A Private Affair
by minni
Summary: After a year of careful avoidance of the public, Albus and Minerva are forced to come to terms with their high-profile relationship in the wizarding world. Nothing will be the same again.
1. Hensley Manor

Not my characters. They belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.

A very subtle sequel to "A Long Road".

Please enjoy the first chapter of a story that has been brewing in my head for months now. There will be many many more.

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><p><strong>A Private Affair<strong>

**Chapter One: Hensley Manor**

The music was soft, jazzy. It penetrated the room, making the entire ballroom of Hensley Manor feel soft, easy and sensual. In the corner, a young woman sang along with her band. It was a swank event. Everyone was having a grand time.

Minerva wore red, crimson red—the color of love and sometimes hatred. It highlighted the gentle white of her skin and the deep rouge of her lips. Against her dark hair, there seemed to be a fire, built of deep flames and smoke. She knew she was beautiful.

A clean glass of red wine met her lips. She let it slip down her throat gently and then cradled the glass with her right hand. It was a party. A very particular party, meant for ministry officials and those who had made a name for themselves. This was not the first year she had been invited of her own accord—it was the third. At the tender age of twenty-five, this was something to be very proud of. Besides the odd date of some of the younger men, she was possibly the youngest female in the room—and this fact did not escape anyone's attention.

"Professor," a voice came from behind her. She knew the man immediately, though it was not the murmur of the man she expected.

Minerva turned around slowly with a gentle smile on her face. Fifty-odd years-old and he looked not a day older than forty—Merlin knows how he kept himself looking so young. Whether it was potions or simply good genes, she didn't know. He was short and on the plumper side, but a good looking man nonetheless. "I was wondering if I'd see anyone I knew," she smiled. "You'll be glad to know that I've decided to use your last article in my syllabus."

He exaggerated a frown, "Mine? Why would you want to use my ground-breaking research?" he smiled, his teeth just ever so slightly off center.

"Oh hush," she giggled. "Don't get too cocky. That's a damn good way to make enemies and here would be a good place to do it."

The man shrugged, his perfectly well tailored gray robes shifting down past his fingertips. "I don't need _them_ to change how the study of magic is approached."

"But you do need them to be published," she raised an eyebrow, followed by a small sip of her wine. He was flirting with her, of course. Minerva didn't mind. After all, what were parties of that magnitude for? It was all in good fun, though; a game for an older man. "Are you here with anyone?"

He nodded. "As a matter of fact, I am and she's quite remarkable. She works in the ministry just like the rest of them here, but I won't hold that against her," he grinned. "Agnes Burnham is her name. She's only thirty-six and Merlin knows what she sees in me, but uh, she said all right when I asked her here. She's on the dance floor at the moment," he pointed, "with Albus Dumbledore."

The woman turned towards the center of the giant ballroom. "She's lovely," Minerva blinked. "I see you're both wearing gray."

He tapped his nose, "Silver. Yes, we went and chose our robes together. Is there anything as cute as that? Imagine. We've been dating for almost eight months, now."

"Congratulations," she smiled. "I'm glad to find that you're so happy, Berthold."

"Thank you," he nodded. "And what of you, Minerva? Are you here with anyone in particular? You certainly look gorgeous tonight."

She shook her head gently, "I am here on my own."

"What, no date for you? You've got to be the most eligible twenty-something year-olds I've ever met and you don't have a date to the biggest night of the ministry? I can't believe that you didn't receive any offers."

Minerva took a slow slip from her glass, never taking her eyes off the man dancing with Agnes Burnham. "Oh I had plenty of offers. I merely declined them all," she smiled and looked at him coolly. "People think that because I live at the castle now that I don't have any sort of love life."

"So there is a someone?"

Her head snapped up quickly out of the relaxed daze she was in to look at the man. "Let's be honest, Berthold. I've never dated much and I'm just as happy with a good book as with a man. Hogwarts suits me."

He chuckled, "You always did like the work."

Those on the dance floor stopped dancing, seeing as how the band stopped playing. Some clapped, some dispersed. The pair of Albus Dumbledore and Agnes Burnham approached Minerva and Berthold. Agnes went straight to Berthold's arms while Albus stood in front of them, leaving some distance between him and Minerva.

"Is this treasure yours, Berthold?" Albus smiled after sticking a hand out for Berthold to shake.

"Indeed she is."

"She's absolutely enchanting. You should keep her." He looked at Minerva for that last bit, though no one but she could have noticed. His attention turned back towards the pair, "I can see what a pair you two must make: you're brilliant and she's a delight."

"Well thank you," Berthold smiled. "She is a delight. And she makes me happy," he said with a gentle air, as if he was speaking only to his girl. He looked up at Albus, "You should find someone for yourself, you know."

Albus shook his head. "I'm happy where I am. Women just complicate the situation. I'd rather just spend the time and energy on the school."

He pursed his lips to the side. "That's too bad. You and Minerva, both, seem to share the same opinion. Is that what the school is, what it does to people? Make them forget how to have fun and make love?"

"Sh!" Agnes giggled, "How many drinks have you had, Bert?" She had a deep, somewhat seductive voice, which did not suit her blonde hair and blue eyes. Minerva would have expected something higher, more melodious. The two of them began giggling. Indeed, Berthold had had several drinks.

"Just three or four."

"I think you need some water," she whispered. She looked at Minerva and Albus and nodded, "I'll take him to get some water. We wouldn't want him to get too much in his system tonight. Tomorrow is a big day!" she glowed. "It's been lovely, meeting you."

"Have a good night," Albus nodded.

And they left, curiously radiating a deep happiness that could only be construed as love, or maybe lust. They were quite happy. Minerva was glad for her friend. He deserved to find happiness.

Minerva and Albus looked at one another with curious expressions on their faces. Had anyone looked close enough, they may have found similar appearances to those of Agnes and Berthold. The woman took another sip from her glass, staring closely at the man, hiding her facial expression. He fancied her—his blue eyes told her so and his body language confirmed it. He took a step towards her, and then put out a hand. She put her glass of wine in his; he placed it on the nearest table. "You're dancing with me, Professor. And that's that," he instructed.

A smile played at her lips as she gave him her hand. She whispered back seductively, "I wouldn't dream of arguing with you, Headmaster."

He led her. He always led her. Right to the outskirts opposite of where they were standing, he led her and took one of her hands, placing his other hand on her waist. She draped an arm on his shoulder, sliding her fingers on the back of his neck. This was where she had wanted to be all night, in his arms. His hands seemed to say the same thing back. He craved her touch and scent just as much as she craved his.

The music was soft, the sort of thing that was forged by lovers to withstand time. It was all strings.

He was wearing black with a rose pinned to his breast and his hair was tied back with a matching red ribbon. Black wasn't his color, but it was a formal event, so no one could have thought anything of it. The man was tall, handsome and charming—he was the man she loved.

His blue eyes stared at hers and a knowing smile crossed his lips. "You look lovely tonight, Professor."

Minerva bit her lip gently to avoid blushing—not that she succeeded. "Thank you, Headmaster." He squeezed her hip gently and she blinked softly as a familiar urge hit her system. Her eyelashes flew in the air as she spoke in a low register to the man, "I must say your choice in clothing isn't nearly as festive as it tends to be at these sorts of things."

"Well the reasoning for that is simple," he leaned in to her ear, "my date says that she prefers to avoid attention, which is an interesting statement, given the sex appeal she seems to be radiating tonight. She's been turning nearly everyone's head."

"Oh really?" she raised an eyebrow. "Who's your date?"

Albus smiled softly, "I would tell you, except I swore to her that I wouldn't."

Her lips parted as she smiled, knowing well that red was spreading across the entirety of her face. This was silly, she realized, but part of her really enjoyed the game that they were playing.

"You must really love her," she whispered gently so only he could hear.

The man nodded his head and winked discretely, "Your face is red, Professor. Are you feeling warm?"

She swallowed gently and glanced out the door that led to the balcony. "I am a bit warm. Maybe I'll go outside for a breath of fresh air."

"Ah," he nodded and raised an eyebrow. "But you'll wait until this song is over, I hope?" his warm, charming voice wafted through the air.

She cleared her throat when she realized her mouth was open, as slight as it was. "No, I wouldn't dream of deserting good company." The two of them smiled, aware of the secret that they shared. She didn't want to leave him—she was far too in love to want to leave the man. And what's more was that he felt nothing but the deepest affection and esteem for her. They were lovers in disguise.

"Tell me, Professor, how have you enjoyed your first two weeks at Hogwarts?" he asked kindly.

Her lips pouted gently and then returned to a smile. "I've enjoyed myself immensely. The staff is wonderful—thank you for your syllabi, by the way. I'm afraid that I've had to rearrange things for my style of approach, but it was nice for you to give me a place to start." Her fingers absent-mindedly played with his right ear; his eyes closed for a second too long in response to her touch. "I've noticed that you've taken to dropping in on occasion during classes. How do you think I'm doing?"

His blue eyes twinkled gently, "Well, Miss McGonagall, I think that I made the right decision in hiring you. Many of the students seem quite uh, taken with your techniques."

She let out a small chuckle, "You mean I'm distracting to some of the students? I've already confiscated eight notes. Eight," she rolled her eyes. The man started laughing. "It's not funny, Albus Dumbledore! I feel like half the bloody student population is drooling over me and the fact that I'm strict only spurns them on, like it's something they fantasize about."

His face was red from the laughter that he was desperately trying to keep under control—not that he was doing well. He spun her out from his chest as a means of avoiding her challenging gaze. In spite of herself, she smiled as she curled into the man he brought her in an extra half spin, making her back touch his chest with his arm cross the whole of her abdomen. "It's not funny," she whispered now that she was close enough to do so.

"Ah, but it is," he breathed. "I'm only glad that I know I don't have to worry about that sort of thing with you, you being in a committed relationship. I don't know how I'd handle the dreaded student-teacher affair."

"Oh har-har," she smiled. "I forced that out of my system a long time ago. Seven years now, I believe. And if I'm not mistaken, it wasn't for naught."

He uncurled her half a turn to put them back in a waltzing position. "No," he shook his head, "I don't believe it was."

The music stopped playing, though the two of them did not break immediately. They had one last moment, looking at one another without veiling their deep affection. And then they each clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Minerva nodded her head gently, "I'll go and get some air. I imagine that I'll be out there for quite a while."

"Go," he grinned tenderly. "I think I may have another dance or two before I make myself scarce, if you can abide by that?"

"I hope you enjoy yourself," she whispered. "I'll be in the garden."

She smiled a triumphant, witting smile as she broke from the man's warm, engaging presence and walked towards the balcony. She stopped on the edge of the banister, looking over the sunflowers that filled the land. Sunflowers and brick were all that lived down there, but she had some wonderful memories amongst those elements. She continued descending on the marble stairs that curved into the garden.

There weren't many people in the area, except perhaps for the odd pair of lovers who had found themselves a spot amongst the greenery. She walked past them leisurely, hoping to avoid attention both for herself and for them. Minerva had not realized in the year before just how romantic this garden was. Who would have thought that a weed like the sunflower could provide such seclusion?

She found a low-lying head and cupped it with her hand.

Minerva could recall with perfect detail the kiss that they shared in the garden and the way that he held her, coaxed her, moved her only last year. He knew how to kiss, that was for certain. And he knew how to set the mood; he chose his spot. This spot, which was conveniently open and waiting for them. The moonlight was not the same as the year before—it had been much earlier in the evening last year when they found one another. No, the shadows were less pronounced this time: the clock bordered on one.

The woman sat on a stone bench and looked at the sky. She could see stars, millions of them. If they were in the city, such a thing would never be possible, but in the Welsh countryside, not being able to see them would be a crime. Lovely, that's what it was.

"Minerva?" a gentle voice called from the brick path.

Her head flipped down. "Gwen?" her eyes grew large at the sight of a former classmate and fellow Gryffindor. Immediately she stood up and rushed over to hug the closest thing she had to a best friend while in school.

"How are you?" Minerva smiled. She was genuinely happy to be seeing Gwenella Paige, who had earned quite a bit of fame for herself, simply by doing what she was good at: dating. She had been featured in multiple magazines, having had relationships with musicians, mostly, though there were some extremely public affairs with some top officials of the Dutch and German Ministries of Magic. It was no surprise that she could catch the eye of any man.

She was lovely. An oblong face with dimples, her hair was light, though not quite blond. She had brown eyes and a short upper lip; her teeth were straight. Tonight, she was wearing pink and it suited her; her skin was not pale. "I'm doing well. Currently looking for a man, of all things," she giggled. "Said he'd meet me out here, but he didn't have the common sense to tell me precisely where."

Gwen had perhaps had something to drink, but that sort of talk was exactly how she had always carried on. It was always about the boys. "How are you fairing?" she asked Minerva. "It's been what, three years?"

Minerva nodded her head. "Something of that nature. I'm doing well. I'm teaching at Hogwarts, now. Transfiguration."

"Oh!" her face lit up. "Still brilliant, I see. How is Professor Dumbledore?"

Caught off guard by the question, she blinked curiously and took a step back. "Professor Dumbledore is now Headmaster Dumbledore, and he's doing," she swallowed, "well. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, "I was just curious. You know, I always thought you had a soft spot for him, the way that you spent so much time with him outside of class. Did nothing ever amount, there?"

Minerva cleared her throat, realizing her mouth to be hanging open. She swallowed. "We are very good friends and happy to be so."

A very wide grin fell on Gwenella's face and a spark flitted into her eyes. She knew. She could tell. She had been in love enough times to see it on another woman's face. More than that, Minerva couldn't lie point-blank and it showed. The woman brought her head close to Minerva's and she began speaking a low whisper, "You're screwing Albus Dumbledore?"

Minerva shook her head, at a loss for what else to do or say.

"You are!" she jumped up and down excitedly. "You are fucking Albus Dumbledore!" she giggled.

The dark haired woman grabbed the other by the arm and led her to the bench, sitting her down. She brought her free hand to her mouth and touched her finger to her lips. Gwenella stiffened and clasped her lips together. This was not meant to be public knowledge.

Minerva took in a deep breath, figuring that the whole truth may as well be told before Gwen had the opportunity to fill in the blanks on her own. She whispered matter-of-factly to her nosey friend, "Albus and I have been seeing each other for a year now. We are very happy without anyone knowing, but seeing as how you've managed to guess it, all I can do is ask you to keep it a secret. Unless of course you'd like me to erase your memory of it," she raised an eyebrow. "I am absolutely not joking."

Gwenella swallowed, "Why the secret?"

That was easy to answer, though not easy to articulate. She looked up at the sky with all of its stars and then back down at a girl who she believed was her friend. Minerva smiled sadly, "It would be scandalous for everyone to find out that I'm in a relationship with the headmaster. He did not put me on staff because I am having an affair with him, but because I deserve it." She reflected for a short second, "I'm afraid that the world would misconstrue the situation, however, if they found out. Self preservation, Gwen."

The woman nodded her head slowly, processing the information, "Well, sure," she blinked, "that makes sense. A year?" she stared at Minerva incredulously.

Minerva bowed her head once and brought it up again. "Please don't share this information with anyone. Least of all whoever it is you're meeting out here."

"No," she shook her head. "I won't. You have my word." Her eyes were sincere, as if she among all people would understand the importance of a secret, though Minerva knew otherwise. Gwenella Paige could not keep a secret in school and made publicity her means of income now that she was older. It was a mistake, believing Gwen, but Minerva hadn't the heart to just wipe her memory. Perhaps all she had to do was trust in the woman—then all would turn out for the best.

Minerva faked a smile, "Thank you, Gwen." Before her old friend had a chance to ask any more questions, the woman changed the subject quickly: "Who is it that you're meeting, anyhow?"

"One of the Black boys. Aethston. He's interested in the Dark Arts, which of course interests me," she raised an eyebrow and shifted her body, perhaps at the thought of the man, which of course made Minerva cringe just a little. She had no love for people that slept around; there was nothing as sickening as that. Love was not a game.

Gwenella's gaze shifted beyond her fellow female before a comment could be made. Minerva felt the presence of a new figure behind her. Gwen let her know just who it was, though she knew by some sort of instinct already. "Hello Professor Dumbledore. Lovely night, isn't it?"

"Uh, yes," he nodded, ever so slightly confused both by the statement and the darkness of the area.

Minerva turned to face him and his puzzled look went away. He no doubt found who he was looking for and suddenly the face of the second woman must have clicked in his mind, for he needed no second introduction to one of his former students. "How are you, Miss Paige?"

A knowing smile came on her face as Albus walked up next to Minerva, though the space between them was kept relatively large. "I am doing quite well, Professor. I'm waiting quite patiently for a man at the moment and Minerva was so kind to keep me company. It seems to me that the person _she's_ been waiting for has just arrived."

Minerva cleared her throat uncomfortably.

The quizzical look came back on the man's face, "Well we did agree to go back to the castle together, out of convenience."

"I'll bet," she raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to it, then," she sat up from the bench. "I'm off to find Aethston Black. Have a nice evening." She leaned forward and hugged Minerva, who was at odds whether or not to respond, though she did in the end. Gwen looked at Minerva, then Albus again, "Good night." And she swayed, rather than walked, down the path. The two were silent until she was out of earshot.

Albus stared at Minerva, as if waiting for her to explain. Teachers were good at that expression; Albus was particularly adept, being equipped with penetrating eyes. The woman shrugged, "She guessed." A short, terrified laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head, "I couldn't deny it. I made her swear to secrecy—do you think I should have wiped her memory?"

The man shook his head, "No. Neither one of us would feel right about doing that. Besides, there's nothing for her to gain in telling anyone."

Minerva nodded her head. He was right. He always was right. She did not necessarily feel better. "Okay," she whispered before taking a step towards him and grasping his hands in her own. They fit hers well. She would push it out of her mind. Right now, she was with the man that she always wanted and there would be no use in worrying about a woman who couldn't keep a secret. Minerva raised an eyebrow as she took in the scent surrounding the man, "Who else, may I ask, received the honor of dancing with Albus Dumbledore tonight? You smell like strawberries."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased. He raised an eyebrow when she glared at him, "Are you jealous?"

She shook her head from side to side, being slightly in denial. "I have no reason to be jealous. I'm just curious."

The man chuckled, taking her hands and placing them behind her back. He leaned into her ear, "If you must know, I danced with the Minister's wife and Edith Smith, who is to be Edith Beltham in a month. You've no need to worry. I only have eyes for you."

A wide, unintentional smile came across her mouth. He was right; she was a little bit jealous, though she had no fear that he would be taken from her. He had waited for her and she had waited for him. She had no reason to think she would have to fight for him, not against another woman. Minerva decided to accept it, for she knew he had nothing to hide. "Thank you for telling me," she whispered. "I'm silly. Shall we go home?"

"Indeed we should," he smiled. "You're too beautiful for your own good tonight. I'd like to take advantage."

She raised an eyebrow, "It's a school night, Albus."

"Well then we'll have to be quick, won't we?" he whispered before kissing her gently on the lips.

The woman giggled under his touch and they were gone.

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><p>They walked next to one another as they passed through the doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They refrained from words, having already agreed that anything they said could be overheard by both ghosts and paintings; they were not safe. To any passerby, had there been one, they would have seen two professors, walking determinedly towards a fixed destination: Minerva's office. They walked down the corridor together.<p>

Minerva turned the knob.

Albus followed her inside, closing the door behind him. He watched casually as she rummaged through her stash of books, searching meticulously for one article in particular. A smile played at his lips: he was being crafty. "I don't need it right this second, Minerva," he breathed.

She turned to face him, her face flustered. He loved that look on her face. "If I don't get it now, I'll forget, Albus." She didn't wait for an answer, but rather, turned towards another shelf.

He smiled, making sure to note every detail of her: the moonlight on her skin, the red in her cheeks, the certain wild, frantic nature with which she attacked life. Beautiful, that's what she was. She knew it, too; she was a humble girl, but she knew when she drove him mad with desire.

The man slid his hands around her slim waist and her wild movements seemed to stiffen, then relax. He felt her inhale beneath his fingertips. A smiled played on his lips as he kissed her neck, sucking gently on the firm, pale flesh. She couldn't say no once he got so far. "Albus?" she breathed.

"Turn around," he whispered gently.

She did. She turned slowly, then ran both arms up his chest and over his shoulders. Her smile was beautiful, her love apparent.

"Good," he grinned.

He took his right hand and lifted her chin before leaning down to kiss her moist lips. He didn't dare allow himself to press too hard, though he may have wanted to. He felt her arms tighten around his neck, begging him to lean in closer, but he didn't. There was something delicate about the situation. "Minerva," he blinked, fully aware of what he intended to say and dreading the answer, ever so slightly, "I wonder if you would be willing to marry me?"

She loosened her grip on the man and stared at him, open mouthed. The woman swallowed, "What?"

Albus cleared his throat as he grabbed the rose at his breast. The second it touched his hand, it was transfigured into a very simple ring. When he looked at the woman again, a tear was falling down her face. "Will you marry me?" he whispered.

Minerva breathed in her tears and nodded her head. "Yes, yes I will," she sniffed.

He slid the ring onto the appropriate finger, then looked into her deep green eyes. He had seen love in her eyes many times, but this was something completely different. This was forever—a promise that he told himself he would make, should they ever find their way back to one another again. It perhaps was a future too hopeful for her to expect. But he was giving it to her, because she deserved it. And he loved her. He loved her more than anything else.

The man leaned down to kiss her; she pushed herself up. Her hot tongue flooded into his mouth to meet his own with amorous intentions. They intertwined, wantonly, hungrily, heatedly as his hands trailed down her magnificent figure, beginning with her breasts, then her waist, ending between her legs. Her breathing became louder, more desperate. He scrunched up her robes, bit by bit until they were at her thighs and he could feel her burning skin. His hands cupped her buttocks and lifted her onto the desk. Her legs were welcomed as they wrapped around his waist and pulled his pelvis up to hers. He felt the heat radiating between them.

A satisfied groan escaped her mouth as their lips broke apart. Her hands shifted his robes off of his shoulders, which he allowed to fall to the floor. Fingers shaking with excitement, he attempted to unbutton the only thing keeping his chest covered. The woman let out a short laugh and kissed him quickly on the mouth.

"I'll do it," she whispered, though she could not hide the pleasure in her voice.

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><p>Please R&amp;R. I adore you all.<p> 


	2. What is Suitable

**Chapter Two: What is Suitable**

His lips curved with amusement as Miss Minerva McGonagall approached the staff table in her usual sprightly manner. Well, perhaps she was ever so slightly more energetic this particular morning than normal—she practically walked on air. He was happy to know that he was most certainly the cause for the glow on her cheeks, that little thing which allowed her to practically levitate.

The woman clutched her chest gently as she sat in her seat. She wore it on a chain, the ring. It was silver and hung low, so that she may hide its charm from prying eyes. This did not stop her from grasping it in her left hand, as if that was where she needed it to reside.

They agreed that it would be best to keep it out of sight: neither of them wanted students to be asking questions. She feared for her credibility, though it could not have been any more sound. Everything they did together, every step that they took as a pair was premeditated and done with care. There was nothing in their relationship that would be detrimental to either of their reputations. Albus, on the other hand, he worried about something else, something she had not yet experienced: fame. He had tried desperately to escape its confines himself, choosing to teach and help others rather than allow it to envelope him. Certainly, he could not stop that terrible force from attacking her once they all knew.

Minerva was not like him. Brilliant and beautiful, she had never sought distinction for herself outside of the academic realm. She did not date. She did not attend posh parties, though she certainly received offers. She did not write books or make friends with ministry officials. She preferred to be herself, without the affect of others.

But she loved him.

It had nothing to do with his name, his accomplishments or his friends. It may, perhaps, have something to do with his failures, his insecurities, but only because she was the sort of woman that would not let herself be fooled—not by love. Minerva understood: whatever mistakes he had made, she understood with such compassion that he never could have believed it to exist. That was what made her different, made her perfect. It also was what made her fragile.

He looked up as the morning mail came in, a sense of dread filling his stomach. That business last night with Gwen Paige was not a desirable occurrence, not at all. She had ruined reputations before and would no doubt try to again, given the right motive.

Albus swallowed. A letter dropped in front of his jam-smothered toast, soon followed by a copy of The Daily Prophet (which he placed in his side pocket without thought). He hated mail. It never was good news. He took a glance at Minerva, who sat several seats to his left; she too had received mail, which was not terribly uncommon. She began opening her single letter.

His fingers began picking at the edge of the fold until it ripped and its contents were visible. He reached in and pulled out the single sheet of paper:

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_ We regret to inform you that your father, one Percival Wulfric Dumbledore of Azkaban Prison for Dangerous Witches and Wizards died on September 10__th__, 1950. Let it be known that cause of death is heart failure, recorded at 5:11 p.m. It is customary to cremate the dead, owing to health factors at the facility; you may retrieve his remains by owl only._

_ Jedediah Malthus, Senior Representative of Azkaban Prison_

He nodded his head gently and placed the note back inside its envelope. Well, it was about time. How anyone could survive any amount of days in that place was beyond him. Azkaban destroyed people, body and of course, soul. Albus was only sad that it took so many years before his father finally stopped breathing. With any luck, he'd found a lesser hell.

The man took in a deep breath and let it exhale slowly. He felt nothing. His father had already been dead for years, now. And if he hadn't quite been dead, he certainly had been gone. Albus blinked as the affair crossed his memory and then he waved it aside. It did no good to dwell on the past.

The letter found itself in a chest pocket, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Albus took a bite of toast and turned his gaze elsewhere: the students. They were generally happy, lively and ready to learn. Some held more esteem for education than most. Some preferred the social interactions to work. Others liked the mystery of the halls—but they nearly all enjoyed quidditch. He smiled through the grains in his saliva: it was try-out week and it seemed like the word "quidditch" echoed in the hall.

Over at the Huffelpuff table, Orin Jenkins was jabbing away the array of grapes being chucked at him in an attempt, Albus could only hope, of acting like a keeper. No doubt it was an effort to gain the affections of Miss Kate Landon, who seemed to care less about him and more about her charms test that morning. Albus nearly choked on his second bite when he saw the young man be hit in the eye.

It would be a good day.

"How was the ball?" his deputy, Thurston Merriweather, asked as he sat next to Albus.

He turned his head towards the man, who was only a few years younger than himself, though he looked older. Thurston was helping himself to an apple turnover, temporarily taking his vision away from the Headmaster. Albus began speaking anyway, knowing that his voice would be received: "It went surprisingly well. I danced with most of the married crowd this time, which made for a nice change. No women chasing me all night," he chuckled. "Everyone was very pleasant, most pleasant indeed."

The deputy raised an eyebrow, "No staying over at mysterious women's flats this time?"

Albus chuckled, a faint smile creeping upon his lips. "No, we came back just before two."

"Did you not spend most of your time with Minerva?" Thurston did not know about Albus and Minerva's relationship, not the full extent of it, anyhow. He knew of their deep friendship and esteem, not their love. And why should he search for it? Albus was significantly older than Minerva.

He shook his head. "She had people that she needed to see and I, of course, needed to make myself eligible. Everyone is certain that Hogwarts will be better now than it ever has been with me here. I just tell them that I'm following the same policies as those before me—this school has been opened for hundreds of years and has only had a few hiccups. With the exception of that madness we had eight years ago, this school has never been threatened, not directly," he cleared his throat. "I'm rambling. How were things here last night?"

Thurston shrugged, "Things went as they always do. Not a hiccup. Not even from Peeves."

"Brilliant," Albus nodded his head. "I would have thought that if something went horribly wrong, you would have told me before now," he smiled. "Juice?"

"Cranberry isn't to my taste. Makes my lips pucker."

"Ah well," he came to his feet, shifting his chair behind him after downing the contents of the tumbler, "I'll be going, then. Who knows what sorts of things I have planned for today." The man nodded to his deputy and then began making his way up to his office, which he had not seen for an entire twelve hours.

The password was 'peppermint', made as a subtle tribute to Minerva, whose victory at wizard's chest was met by her demands. She also received a highly inappropriate massage. He grinned as he said the word, thinking he could almost still taste her peppermint-stained lips.

Inside his office, everything was as it had been the day before, naturally.

He sat behind his desk, nodding at Fawkes. "How have things been?" he asked, of course not expecting an answer. When none came except for a gentle squawk, he ran a hand along the head of his pet, digging in a drawer with his other hand. He had to find his list of appointments for the day. For all he knew, he was to meet with the school board. It was an important event indeed if he remembered in advance that one was coming. Brilliant though he was, a calendar was the only way he could keep his dates straight.

"Well that's good," he muttered absent-mindedly to no one after he found a small book in the lap-drawer. "She said yes, you know," he looked at the phoenix, which began pecking at some feathers on his left wing. "Glad you care," Albus smiled.

"Finally did it, did you?" Phineas Nigellus Black spoke from his portrait. The headmaster knew that voice well, he being the most outspoken of the paintings in his office. There was no need to turn and look at him.

He nodded, flipping open his book to the appropriate date: "I did. I proposed and she said yes."

"Minerva said yes?" an elderly witch by the name of Hester Huggelthrop seemed suddenly alert, up at the top of the rows or portraits. Albus looked up, only to realize that a great majority of them seemed to have decided to awaken from their slumber. Served him right. They were more likely to be awake in the morning than any other time of day. Old people.

Albus cleared his throat, "Yes, she did. Not that this is meant to be public knowledge, those of you with multiple housings. We're keeping it quiet for as long as we can."

"I think it's sweet," Hester glowed.

"Thank you, Hester. Now if you don't mind," he read through his agenda, "I have some time set aside for reading The Daily Prophet." He waited for no response as he reached in and pulled out his copy of the newspaper. He only glanced at the letter that came with it, which fell to the ground.

Perhaps he would write Aberforth later.

* * *

><p>Minerva sat upon her desk in her classroom next to a stack of graded essays. They had not done well, not collectively. In fact several of them, whoever they were, had failed miraculously. Unfortunately, this was not something she accepted, particularly not from fifth years. She felt it necessary to have a chat.<p>

She pursed her lips unhappily as they filed in, usually by the clump. The second they saw the look on her face, the chatter stopped. The woman had complete control of the room. They all knew something was happening. She skimmed their faces, searching for the guilty party.

Her mouth opened cautiously as she took in one final breath. "Afternoon," she cleared her throat. "I trust you all brought your books?"

The class nodded.

"Excellent," she blinked. "Your essays are sitting on my desk, which I'm sure has not escaped anyone's attention. I graded them this morning and most of you will be glad to know that you've done well," she clicked her tongue and shifted her weight so that she was standing on the stone floor. "However, there are three of you who made the mistake of…collaborating." She grabbed the top piece of parchment and waved it delicately in front of the class. "I do not appreciate the comments written on this piece of paper. I assume it was accidentally," she paused for the word to sink in, "left between pages of your essay Mr. Tarmish, seeing as how you couldn't possibly want me to grade this," she stared directly into the eyes of the boy, clearly scared witless. "I expect," she breathed, "to see you and your _friends_ after class. I will have no qualms whatsoever in punishing this class, should you fail to come forth. Am I understood?"

The pale Mr. Tarmish nodded his head, swallowed, then added, "Yes, Professor."

"Good," she whispered and then looked up at the rest of the class. Most of them seemed confused, others utterly terrified. She drifted back to her desk, then to the blackboard which already had the day's lesson written. With a flick of her wand, the essays drifted to their owners. She began speaking without turning towards them: "Who among you can tell me the dangers of transfiguring complex organisms into simple objects?"

Her chest heaved up ever so gently as she turned to see if there were any hands in the air. There was just one. "Miss Landon?" she asked gently.

* * *

><p>She sat behind her desk and waited patiently for the room to clear. She was embarrassed. She was unhappy. She was livid. Yet, she was completely composed.<p>

Her eyes looked over the piece of parchment in front of her and then at the remaining students. One. Two. Three. She counted them and stared at each of them in the face. Gryffindors, all of them. She should have expected better. But she supposed that teenage hormones take hold of all boys, not just the ones she had prejudices against.

Minerva cleared her throat. "I will give you the opportunity to explain yourselves—and, if I may add, apologize."

They were silent for the first second, each of them exchanging looks as if to say, 'you first'. The woman waited patiently as they chose a leader. Silas Tarmish was elected, certainly because he was the one to be indicated in the first place. "Professor," he shrugged, "we didn't mean anything by it. We were just…being boys. We didn't mean to disrespect you. We're sorry."

She looked at the other two boys, "Mr. Thomas, Mr. Petersen? I am quite confident in thinking that you each have something to say?"

The smallest of the boys, Sean Thomas, nodded his head. The way he shrunk in his seat reminded the woman of a tortoise going into its shell. The fact that he was wearing robes just a wee bit large for him didn't help. He spoke quickly, though sincerely, "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall."

Devin Petersen nodded his head. "I'm sorry, too."

They were all terrified, she knew: fearful that she would tell parents, humiliated at their lack of discretion, horrified to know that she knew, and perhaps above all, they were frightened of their punishment. Minerva took a quick second to remind herself that they were but teenagers. All teenagers did ridiculous, stupid things. Her face softened. Their punishments had been decided since she read the parchment, but she did not have to punish them further for being human.

"Apologies accepted," she said gently. "Boys," she sighed, "I understand that you're at a somewhat dysfunctional age. I also understand that you feel inclined towards situations that are outside the beaten path, as it were. Only you can control yourselves and I strongly urge you to do so. That being said, thirty points from Gryffindor. Each of you will also serve detention with me tomorrow night directly following dinner." She considered whether or not to share her reasoning, deciding that it would be in their best interests to know, "I would make it earlier in the day, except I do believe that Gryffindor is having its first day of quidditch try-outs. You're a beater, aren't you Mr. Tarmish?"

He nodded his head, "Yes, Professor."

Her eyebrows rose gently, as if to challenge him. "You'll redeem yourself much quicker if Gryffindor wins its first match," she allowed the tiniest bit of a smile to cross her mouth. "That's all. Enjoy your lunches."

Each boy gathered up his things.

Minerva's attention turned towards the doorway, where a certain man was waiting with a quizzical expression. The woman shook her head, stress and disappointment written on her face. They would wait to talk until after the students had gone. Until then, he would make his way into her classroom and sit in the last row.

"Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore," she said gently, so as to make the boys aware of the new party in the room. The three of them stood up quickly, looked from one professor to the next, and then walked out. Clearly they were embarrassed. All was as it should be.

Minerva walked to the last row with the parchment in hand and sat in the desk next to Albus.

He cleared his throat, turned to look behind him, and then spoke gently to her, "So what was that all about?"

She handed him the piece of parchment, but said nothing. Minerva did not allow herself to slouch while she sat. She was erect, dignified. The woman was also proud—proud of her ability to handle situations in such a calm manner. Her heart may have been going a mile a minute, but every bit of her was composed.

Albus, on the other hand, slouched farther and farther down as he read the scandalous prose. The man couldn't have read it all before he turned to her. There simply wasn't enough time. He placed it in her hand. "Do I need to chat with anyone about this?"

"No," she shook her head, "I've taken care of it."

A short silence pervaded the air. They looked at one another. He put his hand on hers reassuringly. "Were the others like this?"

Minerva shook her head, "No. The others were far less crude." She reflected, and smiled a little to herself. "The others were almost…comical but in a strangely flattering way. Nothing like this."

The man nodded his head. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I will survive just fine." It was only a little hiccup in the grand scheme of her life and the emotional abuse she had taken. This was nothing. She had nearly already forgotten.

"Good," he smiled. They looked at one another. Had they been anywhere private, he'd have kissed her. As it was, they simply stared. An amusing thought seemed to come across his face as his smile changed, ever so slightly: "You didn't ever write anything like this, did you, Minerva?"

He was trying to be funny. And he was, in a black-humored sort of way. Albus was good at making light of situations that made her unhappy.

Of course she didn't write anything like that when she was a student. She didn't share her desire for the man with anyone, especially with other students. She knew what was proper. Besides that, there was one problem with her writing anything sexual on a piece of paper. Minerva nudged him with her elbow and looked at him with thankful eyes. "I had no interest in sex. I wanted love."

Albus squeezed her hand gently and then let go, though his eyes never left hers. He raised an exaggerated eyebrow, "And has that desire been met?"

"You know it has," she smiled.

He grinned, "Good. I'm glad something positive has come out of that whole ordeal. Now," he stood up from his seat, "would you care to join me for a meal, Professor?"

Her shoulders rose into a shrug, "I have no reason not to." Minerva got to her feet, paper still in hand. She began walking next to the man, forcing herself not to reach out and grab his dangling left hand.

"That's a double negative," he stated, knocking her left hand with his right. Clearly, he had the same impulse.

She smiled. "Your point, Headmaster?"

"Only that you must have a reason to go. What is that reason, Professor?"

"A meal, of course," she said smugly. "I daresay, you may get your tuna salad today." She watched as his face scrunched up in disgust. He had no love for the stuff.

The man cleared his throat, "Or perhaps they will have five different dishes chockerbock full of celery."

"That would be a pity," Minerva smiled as they left the empty corridor and came upon stairs. "You would not see me eating anything today, then. I don't suppose that you want an ill-fed, emotionally drained transfiguration professor. That would not be good for anyone, least of all you, Headmaster."

They went through the doorway, towards the Great Hall. There were many students chatting away outside the entrance doors, which of course were held wide open. Albus looked at Minerva, whose smug smile had not left her face. "And why is that?"

"Because then you won't be receiving that first edition you were wanting," she said seriously, though she knew that he understood the humor: of course she wasn't talking about a book.

"You wouldn't withhold that from me, a valuable form of research like that?"

"Oh but I would," she said, matter-of-factly as they entered and made their way towards the staff table. "While I'm sure you find this particular book engaging," she paused for the effect of the word, "you haven't any right to it when it is disagreeable to me. You see, Headmaster, it is in your best interests to keep me happy."

He let out a guffaw, "Are you not?"

She grinned, her lovely teeth showing, "I could not be any happier here at Hogwarts."

"Well then," he leaned in close to her ear as he stopped at his seat in the front of the room, "Perhaps you ought not to threaten your superior."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "I think challenge would be a more appropriate word. And I'm quite certain that you enjoy a fresh mind and witty tongue to combat your smug attitude."

He nodded gently, his mouth unable to hide his pleasure. "Indeed. Do you have afternoon classes today?"

"I do," she whispered, her lips pursed and a smarmy expression on her own face. It was true that she had class. It was also true that she enjoyed their flirtation: "After class, I'll be in my office, cleaning. I had a minor episode last night after the ball and need to, uh, disinfect the room."

Albus cleared his throat loudly. "Good luck," he swallowed.

"Thank you," she nodded her head as she went to sit in her own seat, trying her best to wipe the smile off of her lips.

The woman to her right, Sunny Pomfrey, smiled curiously at Minerva. She was an older woman, somewhere between sixty and seventy. Sunny was the school's nurse and had been on staff longer than anyone else. Her family had a long-standing tradition of nursing at Hogwarts: her granddaughter would one day take her post, or so Sunny hoped—after all, she had inherited it from her grandmother.

Minerva's eyebrows rose.

Sunny swallowed her spinach salad and pointed at Albus, "I haven't ever seen him that enamored with anyone, ever."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. No, Sunny probably wouldn't have seen him enamored with anyone. He preferred to keep to himself when it came to relationships. This, perhaps, was why their affair seven, almost eight years beforehand suited him. It was also why their current attachment suited him. He did not believe that relationships could survive when they were public. Minerva assumed he would know—he had been famous more or less since he graduated from Hogwarts.

"Enamored?" she stupidly asked.

The edges of Sunny's mouth widened, "My dear, he can't keep his eyes off of you. But, it seems to me, that's how it has always been."

Minerva looked down at her plate, which had a nice ham sandwich waiting for her. Instead of taking a bite, she took a sip from the water in her glass before looking at the woman. "Has it?" was nearly all she could manage to say.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, "He spent hours with you in the hospital wing when you nearly froze to death. If that's not dedication to a student, I don't know what is."

She nodded her head, glanced at Albus feeling a sense of adoration that never seemed to leave and turned back towards Sunny. "He was very good to help me through that episode of teenage drama."

"But you two didn't stay friends after you left?" her eyebrow seemed to rise to an abnormal place on her forehead.

Minerva shrugged and shook her head softly, "We lost touch."

"He tends to do that," the older woman nodded and continued to chew her food, "Out of sight, out mind, you know. Well, I must be off," she stood up before she had finished her last bite, "I don't like leaving the infirmary for more than forty-five minutes at a time. It was nice chatting with you. Maybe you can come and visit some time?" She turned towards the edge of the table and looked at Minerva, waiting impatiently for a response.

"I will do that," she nodded.

Sunny turned and left with a nod. She walked quickly and with a purpose towards the doors. It was no time at all before she was gone.

Minerva took in a deep breath and exhaled. Sunny would ask questions, eventually, about that event. The woman could recall how the nurse tried to get the truth out of her. It looked like a suicide attempt. What reason did a young girl who had apparently no family, personal, or academic problems, have for trying to kill herself? Of course the truth was that it was an accident, but no one believed that—on a level, Minerva didn't know what to believe. In any case, she didn't say a word to anyone about why she was out in the snow overnight. It suited the situation.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please.<p> 


	3. Intimate

**Thank you all for your reviews!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Intimate<strong>

"Ravenclaw won't have any sort of team this year. All of their talent left. Miss Callahan has her work cut out for her, if she's hoping to have a winning season. Look at that," Rudolph Tate the defense against the dark arts professor pointed, "He can't seem to block much of anything, can he? And White is a returning player!"

Minerva stared at the try-outs, which did not, in fact, seem to be going well for Ravenclaw. They had only been at it for thirty minutes and she already regretted coming. Rudolph was right: there was not any visible talent.

"Do they have a seeker?" she asked, not taking her eyes away from the hoops at the end of the field. "Sometimes a good seeker can make all the difference in how your team fairs."

"Abram Steele will be returning, I'd think. He's a fair player, but I would hardly call him a threat."

"Do I hear a challenge?" Cora Elvsted squawked as she ascended gracefully up the stairs. Minerva would have correlated her with a bird, even if she wasn't the flying instructor and current Head of Ravenclaw. Everything about her was birdlike, including how she moved, talked and looked: she could have been a raven herself.

"Yes, I think you do," Rudolph's head quickly rose up with majesty.

"Challenge accepted," Cora snapped back. "We'll be sure and decimate Slytherin this year."

The man laughed and shook his head, scratching his forehead as he did so. "You'll lose, whether I make this a challenge or not, Cora."

"Shows what you know," she sat down in the seat just in front of Minerva.

Minerva looked between the two other professors who were clearly having some sort of disagreement. Normally they were quite cordial to one another—which was interesting, considering the general disposition of Cora Elvsted. There was always something imperfect and therefore irritating in that woman's world. Clearly, today that irritant was Rudolph Tate.

Tate's lips puckered.

Elvsted shifted her coat, as if she was ruffling her feathers.

Neither looked at one another, but stared out on the field. Minerva's attention did not shift in that direction, however. She was quite preoccupied with the two people in front of her, who suddenly reminded her of a quarreling couple. Her head cocked to one side as she considered the possibility of such a thing.

She had been taught by both of them.

Elvsted was a perfectionist, though not very interested in keeping herself well-maintained; Minerva had always assumed it had something to do with the fact that she'd have fly-away strands whether or not she made herself up in the morning. But Cora was not unfortunate looking. She couldn't be older than forty and still had a figure; nothing seemed to have gone to mush.

Rudolph, on the other hand, cared more about his stomach than his appearance. His stomach protruded unthreateningly no doubt as a result of his love for food. Minerva could recall once in her fourth year, when he had asked her if she'd partaken of the gooseberry pie, which stained his robes. She giggled at the thought.

He did have the sense of humor which Cora seemed to lack. Maybe somehow they completed each other. Or maybe Minerva was just thinking she saw things.

"It looks like there's a staff meeting up here!" Thurston approached the small group of professors, sitting in the seat behind Minerva. He leaned forward and said gently by her ear, "How do things look?"

"Ravenclaw only just started." She lowered her voice for the next bit: "Outlook isn't good."

Professor Merriweather nodded his head, a wide grin on his face. Clearly, he was just as competitive as the others. This did not surprise Minerva at all. Quidditch was the one thing on campus that all of the students and staff could support. It wasn't like school subjects where each student has a favorite and it wasn't like the house cup, even, since house points were taken away on an individual basis. Ah, but quidditch allowed for everyone to pull together.

Besides, quidditch was a damn good sport that bred competitive people such as herself.

"I take it you'll be rooting for Huffelpuff?"

"Oh yes," Thurston smiled toothlessly. "And you, Gryffindor?"

"Oh yes," she smiled, her enjoyment at the prospect flooding through the air. "I can't help but support my old house."

He nodded, then cleared his throat, "I see you had the honor of taking away the first large sum of house points this year?"

She turned her head to look at the man who really was sitting too close for comfort. She shifted herself to the left, creating more space between them. It was nothing personal; she just didn't care for people to get too close to her. "I did. It wasn't enjoyable."

"It never is," he scratched his beard and sat back, now that he had her attention. "Students seemed mighty afraid of you. Congratulations."

Minerva shook her head, "It's nothing to be proud of. They really made me angry."

"And they shall continue making you angry. There are always a few of them."

"What was that business about, Minerva?" Rudolph turned away from the field to look at the woman. It was clear that he had been listening to their conversation, but that was not surprising to the woman. He was a bit of a gossip.

Cora turned her head ever so slightly and Minerva knew that she was listening as well. The woman shrugged, "I found an inappropriate note written, I can only assume during class, featuring some teenage…fantasies. I took ten points from each of the three boys who helped to write it."

"All Gryffindors?" Rudolph looked scandalized.

"Unfortunately," she nodded. "I don't remember these sorts of things ever happening when I was a student—and that really wasn't that long ago. I do recall some very strange and terrible things happening here, people dying and the whole world gone crazy, but I simply can't recall this lack of indiscretion."

"Oh it happened," Rudolph raised a knowing eyebrow, "Every once in a while a student will get it in their heads that we'll give them a break if they do us a favor or two. I'm fairly certain that all of us here have been approached at least once. Some of our er, better known staff members have had several encounters."

"Stop it, Rudy," Cora snapped and looked at him angrily.

He stared the woman directly in the eye, "Why don't you tell me what in Merlin's beard is bothering you?"

Cora stood up from her seat: "Nothing" was all she said, and she began walking down to the floor of the stadium seating. She didn't say anything to any of the rest of the group. Rudolph looked between Cora and the two-some a row up before deciding to follow her down. He nodded at Thurston and Minerva before running down the steps.

Minerva turned to Thurston again. "Forgive me, but are they…together?" she asked slowly.

Thurston nodded his head, "Been married as long as I've known them."

The woman smiled, knowing that she was right. "I never would have thought if I hadn't seen them like that. I spent my seven years at the school and I can't recall a single moment where I may have thought them to be…well, you know, intimate."

The man smiled, "I think they passed their intimate peak quite a while ago."

Her smile fell. Of course things always slowed down as relationships and people evolved, but they weren't old. It was sad to think that the sex had gone from the relationship. "That's unfortunate," she frowned.

"Indeed," he nodded. There was a pause. She turned her gaze away from the man, but she knew well that he continued to look at her. He leaned forward near her ear, as he had done earlier, "I wonder, Minerva, what your thoughts would be about having dinner with me tonight."

She took in a slow breath as she turned to face the man again. "Like a date?"

"Yes."

Minerva cleared her throat gently, "I'm seeing someone. We um," she stopped herself from mentioning the engagement, "We're quite serious."

He let out a gentle sigh. "I suppose it would be strange, seeing an old professor in that way, anyhow."

Her lips angled down. She was sorry, most sorry indeed. She felt no attraction towards the man, but she never enjoyed turning people down, not for anything. What's more is that he had no idea who he had lost to. "I'm sorry, Thurston."

"Oh it's fine," he nodded gently, "I just thought I'd try my luck before Albus."

Minerva's stomach turned. She couldn't very well tell him the truth, however much she desired the confession. It didn't make her feel good at all to simply look at him in the face and say, "I can't blame you for that at all."

* * *

><p>She returned to her rooms after the Gryffindor try-outs had finished. Minerva was pleasantly surprised to find that the team could play well. Not even well, they were the contenders this year. She did not regret for a second that she allowed Mr. Tarmish to join his team today for he was, in fact, greatly talented.<p>

Minerva loved quidditch. Of course, she came by it naturally—her father was the manager for the Hollyhead Harpies, after all. A great deal of her childhood was spent going to matches all across Europe. Those were happy days.

Her head felt heavy as it landed on the pillow of her bed, though she couldn't be sure why that was. She had slept enough. Maybe it was her lack of sleep from the night before, catching up with her. By the time she made it to bed after the ball, it was after three. Breakfast was at eight. She only received about four hours of sleep, between falling asleep, getting up and getting dressed for the day. That was a poor start to a Friday.

What a day yesterday had been. And today, for that matter. She reflected carefully.

She hadn't thought that it would be so difficult to keep herself from mentioning her relationship. It just seemed as if everyone wanted to know for one reason or another. What was the problem with telling, again? Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible if the staff knew. They knew her. They knew Albus. Certainly they would not see anything scandalous in it, for it was, in all verity, completely innocent.

She shut her eyes angrily as Rudolph's comment flooded through her mind: _"Some of our better known staff members have had several encounters…" _He no doubt had been talking about Albus. What did that mean? He hadn't been with other students, he was too proud to let it happen more than once. Minerva swallowed.

And Sunny. Clearly, she had an inkling that there was a close relationship between Albus and her when she was a student. What would happen if she was to find out?

Minerva pulled out the long chain around her neck, allowing its charm to dangle in the daylight above her head. It was beautiful. It could not have been more perfect and they both knew it. Albus only gave the best.

But he wasn't perfect. She knew this. The papers made him seem a hero, but he was also a failure. He waited too long to stop Gellert Grindewald. Too many died before he stepped up to the challenge. And he and his brother had a terrible relationship. Minerva had not even met Aberforth in a context that pertained to her fiancé. Albus was selfish. He tried to keep himself in check, tried to dote on her, but she knew the truth: he was egocentric.

She loved him anyhow. Or rather, she loved him because of it. Minerva loved that he struggled as people were meant to struggle. He fought against himself, in search of right and wrong. He constantly tried to become better. He was a philosopher's dream.

Perhaps the best reason to love him was the simplest: she simply did. She loved his smile and eyes and nose; his laughter, terrible sweet tooth, and way of speaking to her in the dark; the way he kissed her, undid her bun and slid his fingers through hers. She simply loved him. Yes. She loved him simply and unwaveringly. And she would marry him.

A knock came at the door. She sat up slowly, allowing the blood to keep from draining too quickly, then walked to where the knock had emanated. When Minerva opened the door, she was pleasantly surprised to find the man in question. She smiled softly, "Headmaster?"

"May I come in, Professor?" he grinned back at her.

Minerva nodded and opened the door wider so that he could enter. The man leaned casually against the wall to the side of the door while he waited for her to shut it. "I went down to the pitch, but you weren't there. Thurston said that you'd gone to your office. So I went there and you were nowhere to be found. And of course, I now see that you were here, presumably napping, given the state of your hair."

Her hand reached up to her head and patted her hair gently. Yes, it had certainly lost its bun shape. Some of it even curled around her ear. She would have to remake it before she went out again. "As a matter of fact, I have been lying down, but sleep hasn't claimed me yet. Come and lay with me. Maybe that will help," she smiled and put out a hand for the man to grab.

He put his arm out limply. Minerva raised an eyebrow before taking his hand—he had a mischievous look on his face. Quite rightly, too, for he snapped his elbow and pulled her to him, placing his other arm around her waist so she couldn't escape.

She giggled ever so slightly under his touch, "This is not the bed, Professor."

His eyes twinkled merrily as he leaned down for a kiss, which she allowed. His lips were always a joy to have on hers. He smiled happily after he'd received his greeting. "That's all I wanted," he swept a strand of hair out of her face, "we can go to bed now," he winked.

Minerva leaned back, pulling him with her. She chose not to comment.

He followed her, his hand in hers, to the carefully made bed which had a dent from where she had been previously resting. She crawled to the side currently claimed as hers. He sat on his side, no doubt watching her like the drooling man he was. That was just fine. She didn't mind.

Her head hit the pillow with ease yet again. She turned on her side to face the man, who had decided to plop himself next to her. Minerva watched him as he groaned to turn his body to lay flat on his back. He didn't know that she thought it cute, the way that he played up his age; he had twenty years on her, but he wasn't that old. He had proven himself capable of activity numerous times.

She shifted herself over and placed her head on his chest. He put and arm around her. The woman took in a deep, happy breath and let out a sigh. She allowed her eyes to shut.

Minerva cleared her throat, fighting off the deep waves that seemed to be hitting her head. "This is nice," she whispered.

His heartbeat was slow, regular and reassuring. "This _is_ nice. Just might be the nicest part of my day—that's a compliment for you, my day has not been bad at all."

The woman chuckled gently, "Well I am ecstatic that you feel that way," she pecked him on the cheek, "Whatever have you been doing with your day? I thought I would see you out on the pitch."

"Writing letters, mostly."

"Oh!" her eyes flipped open. "That reminds me, my parents want us to visit them. I thought maybe we would consider going there on my birthday. We can announce our engagement then."

"I think that would be acceptable," his fingers drifted across her exposed arm. "Although something tells me that you may want to tell them a little bit earlier than that."

She sat up and turned her torso to look at him. She only heard him say it, but she could hear the tease in his voice. "What do you mean?"

He smiled smugly, "Well it's been about three weeks already since I mentioned it to your father. I don't think they would appreciate it if they had to wait another three weeks before they knew that I'd followed through with it."

Minerva blinked in surprise, her lips forming a particularly large smile. He was wonderful. "You've been planning that proposal for three weeks?"

Albus shrugged, "Well not that particular proposal. I couldn't have predicted the way that it went. But yes, I've known that I wanted to marry you, really for a year now."

"Shut your face," she grinned, "There is no way you could have known that for a year."

He laughed in amusement. Maybe it was the mixture of arousal and shock on her face that made him laugh—she could only imagine how strange the expression was. His free hand coaxed her back down to lie on his chest. His response could not have been more matter-of-fact: "I knew from the moment that I saw you standing on that balcony, Minerva."

She retorted, feeling a deep need to challenge the man, who seemed so sure of himself, "And what made you _know_ this?"

He took in a breath that made her head rise with his chest. "I don't know. I just saw you and I knew."

There was a pause in the room as she took in this information. She certainly had been drawn to him that night, though she could not explain why. It must have had something to do with the fact that she never quite forgot him.

She responded sarcastically to his straight comment for reasons unknown to her. She did not like to talk about them before now. For some reason, they had quietly agreed to live in the present. There was no reason to talk about it. "Love at first sight?" she raised an eyebrow.

"No," he shook his head on the pillow, "I don't believe in that. If you do, you've been slipped a love potion. What I think happened, Miss Minerva, is that I found myself wondering why I gave you up. And I couldn't think of a reason that made sense to me anymore."

Minerva let out a heavy sigh, feeling a familiar scar's pain break through the numbness. "I had the same thought," she whispered, "Only it occurred to me that you broke my heart."

"But you were quick to forgive me."

Minerva nodded her head gently. Indeed she had; right or wrong, she certainly did for the chance to be with him again. "I wasn't heartbroken anymore. The heart mends itself after so much time, you know." Her hand drifted gently along the smooth fabric that was his robes. It felt good to the touch. She squeezed it tightly in her hand, making a fist that lasted only a moment.

"Does it?" He didn't say it as a challenge. Not even as a joke. Albus was serious. "I think one just becomes numb to the heartache, if it was real. And then something happens: you see them or something reminds you of them and your instinct is to smile, but then you think about it and you're sad."

"Albus?" she whispered, unsure of what else she could say to that. His observations were not completely off the mark, but she certainly wouldn't say it. That was not something he would normally say, either.

"I'm rambling." He squeezed her to him. "Don't listen to me. I'm crazy. Drunk with emotion."

She sat up to look into his lovely blue eyes. He was alarming her, even if he was acting calmly. "Are you unhappy?" the words came gently out of her mouth.

"Don't be daft," he traced a hand along the outside of her face, from her hairline to her chin, "You're about the only thing that has made me happy."

The words settled on her uneasily, though she smiled under his touch. "You make it sound as though your life has been a tragedy."

"No," he swung his head from side to side confidently, "It has had some terrible moments in it, you know." He swallowed. The trouble in his voice was subsequently evident. "My father finally died—I received a letter from the ministry yesterday. Mad with lunacy, his heart finally gave out. The Ministry did me a favor and cremated him. I sent a letter, asking them to send the ashes to Aberforth."

"Aberforth?" she raised an eyebrow. Albus never communicated with Aberforth for any reason at all. It was odd that he should be the one to handle their father when Albus had such an estranged relationship with the man.

"No doubt he'll look at it as me trying to pawn off the dirty work, but Aberforth always had a stronger connection with the family than I ever did. He will enjoy making peace with our father."

Her fingers played with the buttons on the breast of his robes absent-mindedly. "And what about you?"

Albus cleared his throat gently, "I'll manage somehow. I always do," he squeezed her hand gently. "Are you wanting something in there, Miss Minerva? You've been playing with my clothing for the last ten minutes."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. The change in subjects didn't bother her at all: "Oh hush," a smile crept on her face. "You've hardly been here for ten minutes."

"Precisely," he raised an eyebrow. "Are you wanting something?"

"No," she shook her head, burying it into the side of his ribcage. "I'm just trying very hard to stay awake. Doing something with my hands helps."

He squeezed her hips towards him affectionately. "I see what you mean," he chuckled.

Minerva rolled her eyes. What a silly man he was.

Her lips formed a gentle u as she felt the fabric of his robes on her cheek, caressing them in pleasure. She really was like a cat, sometimes. There was nothing like the sensation of touch. Hot. Cold. Soft. Rough. His robes fought back when she went one direction and went smooth, going the other. The fabric reminded her of a carpet. Only this was softer. And it smelled like Albus—that is to say, like sherbet lemons and skin.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the waves of sleep coming over her again.

"I love you," she heard him say. He was in his own world, Albus. She could tell by the far off way he spoke. He was not as well as he led on—that's all right, he would tell her when the time was right. Minerva trusted him.

"I love you too," she whispered. She did. Totally and completely. They would be very happy together. "I can't wait to marry you, Albus Dumbledore," she sighed softly.

He kissed her on the crown. "And I can't wait to marry you, Minerva McGonagall. What sort of wedding do you fancy?"

Her thoughts fought for control over the sleep waves that began hitting her forehead violently. "A small one with lots of flowers. Sunflowers, if we can."

"Like the ones at Hensley Manor?"

Minerva nodded her head on his chest. "Precisely," she sighed. "But not at Hensley Manor. Somewhere more private."

"Somewhere in the country, then?"

"Yes. Maybe you would consider my parents' home? It is a lovely place." She breathed in deeply, trying to ward off the rising tide of sleep.

"Anything for you," he shifted his arm, cradling the curvature of her back. "We'll be sure and ask them. Shall we plan for this summer?"

"That doesn't give us very long to plan."

"We can do it. We're both resourceful people."

Her eyes opened quickly, fighting off sleep. "Will you want many guests?" It was just chit-chat, her way of warding off sleep. There was no thought in the question. She did not expect his answer at all. Had she been awake enough to consider it, the day may have gone very differently.

"Quite a few, I'd imagine," he ran his hand along her cheek. "I'm an important man. And you're an important woman."

The colors around the room danced in a blur as she processed his answer. Her response did not come out as coherently as she would have liked. "Not too many. I hope. It's," she allowed her eyes to close lazily, "about us."

"Sh," he whispered kindly. "You're tired, Love. Go to sleep."

"Mmm," she smiled as she rubbed her cheek against his warm body. "You're soft," the woman whispered, forgetting about anything they had discussed.

"Sleep," he cooed. "It's time for sleep."

Minerva nodded her head. "Yes." The waves hit her head hard and she gave into them. Her body grew limp and she lost consciousness. Minerva slept.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R Please.<p> 


	4. Intimations

**Chapter Four: Intimations **

It was a wonderful start to a Sunday. Minerva awoke with a sleeping Albus next to her, curled into a ball and looking at peace in his slumber. Her lips spread into a gentle smile as she watched him inhale and exhale evenly. It was funny how she enjoyed these moments. He did nothing but sleep, but for whatever reason, Minerva felt overwhelmed with this deep affection for the man. Maybe it was the gentleness in him.

The woman took in a deep breath before running her hand along his back in an effort to coax him awake—they did, after all, need to make an appearance in the Great Hall. He shook his head quickly, groaning in the negative at the thought of rising.

She rolled her eyes. "Albus, it's time to wake up," she said gently.

"Uh-uh," he groaned into the pillow, turning over to the other side, away from the woman.

Minerva inhaled deeply and let it out quickly. It was like pulling teeth to get the man out of bed when he didn't want or need to rise. "I'm going to breakfast, Albus," she taunted, taking her time with the word "breakfast".

No response.

With a shrug, she rolled out of bed, thinking that she might lead by example. His reaction was to turn and face her, open his eyes for a second, and then close them again. What a ridiculous man. "We've got to make an appearance, Albus."

"But it's so comfy here," he breathed. "And the view is nice."

She looked down at her exposed skin, feeling both flattered and annoyed with the man. "Well your _view_ is going away," she raised an eyebrow. "You may as well get out of bed and join the real world."

"Or," his bleary blue eyes flickered open, "you could spend the morning in ecstasy and tell the world to piss off."

This approach of his was nothing new. He was like a child. Twenty years between them and she was the adult in their relationship. All he wanted to do was play. "As much as I'd like to do that," she nodded her head gently, "I am an adult and not allowed the luxury of lying in bed all day. And neither are you. Up." The bed covers moved to the foot of the bed without another word from the woman.

She turned and went to the bureau where she promptly chose her clothes for the day and slipped them on. Minerva listened carefully for movement from the man and was pleasantly surprised to hear creaking on the bed followed by footsteps on the floor. Well done, Albus. Now she wouldn't have to exercise any of her other tactics.

"There's an owl at your window," he said, sounding remarkably alert for a man who only just crawled out of bed.

Minerva spun around half dressed, to find that there was indeed an owl at her window. "I wonder who that could be," she looked at Albus, then at the glass. It was common for her to receive mail, but usually it waited until the morning post; never had she received a letter at Hogwarts in this fashion. Panic struck her system as she strode determinedly towards the tawny owl at her window.

Could it be her parents? Had something happened? Was someone ill? Strange things always happened to her father when he was abroad. Had he been injured? Or was it a friend? Experiments went wrong often enough.

She opened the window, realizing that it wasn't a letter at all on the owl's foot. He was clenching a newspaper. Her stomach dropped—somehow she already knew what it was. Albus was behind her with something for the owl to nibble. Minerva looked gratefully at the man. "It's a newspaper," she stated slowly.

They exchanged a look of fear before he told her to open it.

She did not have a subscription to the Daily Prophet. Someone must have sent her the copy. There was not much guessing to be had as to whom. In giant letters, the headline of the day read: A PERFECT PAIR. Below that was a picture of the two of them dancing at the ball. Minerva pursed her lips angrily as her eyes skimmed the author of the piece: Maximillian Woodfork. She was not familiar with the name.

"Just what I wanted to wake up to," Albus breathed behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Minerva shook her head disapprovingly as she began reading:

_ Albus Dumbledore is arguably the most important wizard of the century, daring to defy the limits of accomplishment, making ground-breaking studies in transfiguration, potions and charms—not to mention his victory in the most important duel of the century with Gellert Grindewald. It should also be noted that he currently is Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after maintaining a professorship in transfiguration._

_ Minerva McGonagall was hired over a year ago to take his position as transfiguration professor. McGonagall has made strides in the field of transfiguration since her days at Hogwarts, becoming an accomplished animagus in her seventh year and publishing the details of the various experiments involved. Earning early recognition, she worked for a range of research teams within the last eight years, receiving high honors for services to magical exploration. As such, it is no surprise that she should be named Dumbledore's successor—or is it?_

_ Dumbledore and McGonagall have always had a curious relationship with one another. While at school, McGonagall spent many evenings with her transfiguration professor in search of educational enlightenment. Gwenella Paige, a fellow Gryffindor and classmate of McGonagall states, "She came back [to the room] after hours constantly, often giddy and flushed."_

The woman's knees gave out. She leaned against the window, holding herself up with her free hand. Minerva looked at Albus with an open mouth and wide eyes. Her mouth had gone dry. "Merlin," she shook her head, not wanting to read the rest of it. She looked back down at the paper with complete and utter fear racing through her system:

_Had Dumbledore not shown himself to be an upright citizen of the wizarding community, one might misconstrue the situation as being more than just harmless research. Clearly, their experimentation into long hours of the night led to the projection of McGonagall's career. _

_ It is curious, however, to find one Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore—_

_For more, see Page 4._

Minerva looked at Albus, who nodded after reading the final word. She turned quickly to page four.

_dancing together in such close proximity at the Ministry's 312__th__ Annual Ball._

_ Each claims to have gone in a single capacity and indeed all of the facts point towards this being true. Both had various interludes with other ministry members and researchers, but the evening certainly ended with the two of them together. They were seen apparating from the grounds of Hensley Manor to Hogwarts, but not before McGonagall claimed to Paige, "Albus and I have been seeing each other for a year now."_

_ A year beforehand, it should be noted, they met at that same event. At the time, Dumbledore was celebrating his promotion to Headmaster and McGonagall, coincidentally, was celebrating her newest publication, an expansion on Dumbledore's Regeneration Theory. _

_ Their reconnection was, to be sure, fated—perhaps even planned._

_ After nine years supposedly apart, they now inhabit Hogwarts together, teaching the best and brightest, carrying on the tradition of Hogwarts. Congratulations._

Minerva blinked and then flipped the page over, looking for more information. When she knew for sure that there was none, she let the thing fall to the floor. The woman stared at the man beside her who looked remarkably calm.

She was outwardly calm as well, though the insides of her wanted to blast Gwenella into a flake of ash. A harsh breath was taken before she whispered to Albus, "What do we do?"

He cleared his throat and opened his arms. She went to them, entwining his torso in her thin limbs. Minerva could feel his heart beating his chest—not hear, feel. Thump. Thump. Thump. She buried her face in his chest, feeling emotion wash over her. The woman couldn't help but begin to shake as she fought back the pain that was the death of the life she knew. No one had died, but it would never be the same again.

"Well, we can either make a statement or we can choose not to. I'm afraid they both will cause quite a stir. I'd wager that the school is already in a frenzy."

She backed her head away from his chest to look into his eyes and his sad, sad face. Minerva knew her face was wet. She also knew that he was right—about the frenzy part, anyhow. God, how could she face all of those students that surely thought the worst? As far as the world was concerned, nothing ever happened when she was a student. There was no proof. Gwenella didn't know—she thought, but she didn't know. There was no proof.

And now, thanks to her, they all knew that she was dating Albus. They could not know that she was engaged, but she had in fact been quoted correctly; one year of dating. And somehow this article, this joke made their relationship out to be something despicable, something dirty and viral. It somehow was a disease. And not just one that affected them, no, it affected the students, it affected Hogwarts itself! If the leaders in a school were infected, the rest of the students would be. That's what the paper was saying.

Minerva felt her throat swell up and her mouth involuntarily open as a sob erupted from her throat. She did not bother to cover her mouth with her hand. She did not even bother to wipe away the tears that were falling heavily and quickly along her face. Her eyes would be red. Her voice would be hoarse. Her body would be sore. But she turned from the man and fell on the bed, grabbing at pillows to stifle her cries.

He did not bother to follow her. He fell to the floor and sat against the wall, looking white as a ghost and almost just as dead.

Damn it damn it damn it! What had just happened? Their whole history was laid out for the wizarding world to see, to judge, to believe. It was true, but not like that. It was libel, that's what it was.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Minerva shook her head in the pillow, not wanting to believe it. Had it started already? She rolled over, daring herself to get in her breath, wiping away the tears. She could pull herself together. She could, if she really tried. Minerva looked up at the gray ceiling, forcing her eyes to focus on it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. "Minerva?"

It was Thurston.

She sat up and looked at Albus, who was standing next to the bed by this point. He nodded his head, "Better get that."

The woman took in three very deep breaths before walking to the door and opening it quickly. Thurston was holding a Daily Prophet in his hand, but when he saw the red on Minerva's face, he knew that he had nothing to tell her. She motioned for the man to come in, who seemed genuinely surprised to see Albus there, not completely appropriately dressed. Minerva looked down at herself, registering her own lack of propriety. Oh well. What did it matter? The world knew.

She shut the door behind him.

He looked from one person to the next before finally uttering, "So it's true, then?"

Albus stepped forward, "We are together, yes. I wouldn't go so far as to say that everything that was—or wasn't—said was true. Woodfork does an excellent job of not saying very much, and implying everything else," he nodded knowingly. The Headmaster sighed, then made a half-hearted attempt at smiling, "It was only a matter of time."

Thurston, who was between the two of them, looked from one to the other, slowly nodding his head. "I have to admit, I feel a bit betrayed."

Minerva blinked through her already raw eyes, feeling a very deep sense of anger swelling up inside of her, "_You_ feel betrayed?"

The Headmaster cleared his throat, "We've only just seen it. She's not over the initial shock."

Her jaw dropped. What in the bloody hell gave him the right to critique her like that? Of course she wasn't over the initial shock, but neither was he. "Excuse me?" she raised an eyebrow. "This is not something you handle every day, Albus Dumbledore. Don't act like it's nothing."

He took in a deep breath and approached the woman, putting either arm on her shoulder. He was calm. Remarkably calm. She hated that in him, sometimes. Minerva certainly had a larger visible emotional range than he. How could he just stand there? She knew his heart was beating a-mile-a-minute, but there he stood, strong and unwavering. All Minerva wanted was the opportunity to blow something up.

"Minerva," he practically whispered it was so reassuring, "I beg of you, please don't make this into a row, not today. You're new to this sort of attention." His blue eyes penetrated hers of green, but there was nothing insincere in this connection. He was begging her. As if she'd do something brash. She considered for a second: yes, given the opportunity, she would take Gwenella Paige and transfigure her into something terrible. Maybe a fly and let her attempt to stay alive for any given amount of time.

She blinked gently to herself. Perhaps Albus was right: he should handle it in the immediate future. "Sorry, Love" she breathed with embarrassment, "Thurston," she looked beside her, "I'm sorry for not telling you yesterday. We weren't going to tell anyone." And they didn't. Damn Gwen. There would be hell to pay someday.

"I see why," Thurston nodded understandingly, "now that I see what happens."

Minerva bobbed her head slowly. She did not feel calm, but it had come back to her face, raw as it was. "Is it absolute madness in the Great Hall?" she asked, her voice very unhopeful.

Thurston let out a heavy sigh and shrugged, his head falling to the side. Yes. Yes, it certainly was. "Absolute madness. The students are beside themselves with excitement at the idea of a scandal."

"Not surprising," Albus nodded. "Thurston, I'd like to have an emergency staff meeting at twelve. We uh," he glanced at Minerva, "Minerva and I need to communicate the exact situation to them. I'm afraid that they are likely to have theories of their own, many of them. I'd like them all to be informed. This is just the beginning."

The Deputy nodded his head, "I'll go and make the announcement now." And he turned around to leave, opening and closing the door on his own. Minerva hardly even noticed he had left—she was too busy seething. Only her anger had changed directions, namely at the man standing in front of her.

Her mouth twitched.

Albus certainly saw the expression on her face, for he shook his head and spoke before she had any sort of chance: "They have to know the circumstances of our courtship and our engagement. We can't hide anything anymore, Minerva. You don't know what it's like. They'll find professors when they're off the grounds and ask questions, even ask for interviews. The staff must know."

Her eyebrow rose. This had nothing to do with the staff. This had everything to do with them. In any case, he had no right to assume that she would want him to divulge any information about their relationship when he had sworn her to secrecy. They had agreed to keep their affairs private. She spoke very slowly, in a much lower register than she tended to use, "You've no right to assume that I would want the staff to know."

"It's in the papers, Minerva," he shook his head, as if that was the end of it, as if the papers were Merlin himself.

Her head shifted from side to side leisurely. She kept her eyes on his. "What does that matter? No one knows the truth except us and you're just going to…to…" she shook her head looking for the right word, "_spew_ it out?"

The man put out his hand, as if to say 'stop', though no words came out. She waited patiently for a response. He was calm in his reply, but behind his voice, she could hear a deep frustration: "We have nothing to hide. We fell in love a year ago and here we are. I put you on staff because you deserved it and because you would be a valuable asset to Hogwarts. Yes, you were close to me while you were at school, but nothing ever happened. As the paper says, I am an upstanding member of the wizarding community and would never do anything as foolhardy as that."

She took in a deep breath. That was the truth that they had agreed upon months ago. But there seemed something sinister, suddenly, in lying so blatantly to the world—even if it was a necessary lie. There was no reason to tell them anything at all. "They can't bully us, Albus, into allowing them into our lives."

"They've already entered."

This much was true. There would be no argument occurring if it was false. She was defeated. "Why can't we let it alone?" she asked quietly.

He took in a breath, then opened his arms again for the woman. She fell into them, as if she was being pushed. Indeed she felt that way. They were pushing her. Even Albus was pushing her. But Albus, at least, knew what he was doing. He had, after all, been in the headlines numerous times and it couldn't have always been about his successes.

His arms wrapped around her and he spoke reassuringly to her, "The public cannot say no to scandal. And since we did not have the foresight to keep it from entering the papers in the first place, we must suffer the consequences. They will attack you and me and Hogwarts until we do tell them whatever it is they want to know. Better to let it out now than fight it for months."

"You expected this to happen," she stated, her voice dead and empty.

"Yes," he sighed. "But let's be positive about it: we had an entire year to ourselves."

She nodded gently. Yes, be positive. Perhaps this would be an opportunity for her to be free from the guilt she had from keeping a secret. She never enjoyed keeping secrets-and this was one that Albus was asking her to divulge. He was releasing her. Yes, bless the man for allowing her to talk openly with others about her relationship. Even if it was at the loss of privacy in the present, it would be freedom in the future. They could carry on, once this had all passed, out in the open. "And now we can spend more time with one another on the grounds," she added softly.

"Indeed," he slid his hand along her back tenderly, "Thank you, Love."

Minerva pulled back from his chest and looked into his eyes, "For what?"

He cleared his throat and inhaled deeply, "For seeing reason, I suppose. We can expect a rough month ahead of us." His left hand traced her neck and up to her cheek, still red from the crying. A sad smile fell upon his face. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting," she shook her head. He meant it as a means of reassuring her, but that was not what she needed. She loved him, desired him, wanted him for ever and ever, but she did not need protection. Minerva was her own person. Even in a couple, she was her own. She could function without any sort of barriers between her and the world. "Albus, you are a wonderful, brilliant, thoughtful man and I love you dearly for it," she paused. "But that's all I want from you. Love."

For the first time since the owl came, the man laughed softly. She raised an eyebrow to his grin. His blue eyes danced, "Do people really talk like that, outside of novels?"

"I do believe I just did," she smiled shrewdly. She chose not to think about the deep breech in her life anymore—not until the staff meeting, anyhow. Minerva would go merrily along with Albus onto a different path. They could not stay the same couple if they couldn't find the happy moments so early.

Indeed, she saw a very dark month ahead of her. She smiled to kill the fear, "Yes. Yes, I suppose people do. Don't you?"

"Perhaps." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

Her hands slid against his ears and into his hair. She savored the feel of his coarse auburn strands between her fingertips and the soft skin of his ear on her thumb. His eyes closed in happiness at the touch. Her lips curved upward, glad to see him break for a second from his position of strength. He felt it just as much as she did, the fear.

"You're right," he offered the words to the air, his eyes failing to open. He was pensive. "You don't need my protection. But I'll try anyhow. I think, sometimes, about what we were when you were a student and it occurs to me that I sacrificed you for my career, for social stability. I hurt you for the sake of my vanity. Minerva," he opened his eyes which looked terribly troubled, "I will love you for ever."

"I know," she whispered.

The lump in her throat returned for reasons she could not quite explain.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please. It would make my next two weeks so much better.<p> 


	5. Can't Sleep

**Chapter Five: Can't Sleep**

He couldn't sleep. Not a wink. Of course this didn't surprise him: it had been a terrible, trying day.

As the moonlight streamed in from the window onto his bed, he found himself wondering about Minerva, who did not want to see him after supper. What had she done? Gone to bed, perhaps. No, she would have graded papers and then gone to bed. Minerva would have thrown herself into her work—that was her way of ignoring what was bothering her. She had always been that way.

Even as a student, he reflected, she would work to keep her mind off of things.

He could recall the way she conducted herself after he told her that they could be together no more: her eyes rarely left a book. At lunch, she read. After class, she read. Even in class, she read. She wrote as well, which is almost the same thing. Without informing him, she sent in her notes on her work with transfiguration. Those notes became published, eventually, launching her career as a researcher. From then on, it was nothing but work—until they found each other again.

This last year had been perfect…

Albus sighed with frustration and kicked the covers from his feet. There would be no sleeping on his own tonight. Better find something to help him rest. The man put on a robe and grabbed his wand before leaving his rooms. He'd try warm milk first. If that didn't work, perhaps a potion.

He stepped out into the corridor, wand lit, and took several flights of stairs before finding himself in the kitchens of Hogwarts. There was only one figure in the room, sitting at the table usually used for periods of rest by the house-elves. But it wasn't a house elf.

"Rudy?"

The man turned around slowly. "Albus!" He was drinking something out of a tumbler that resembled tea. "Can't sleep either?"

Albus nodded his head, "It's been one very long day." He sat down next to him after the professor motioned to the seat. The headmaster allowed a sigh to escape his mouth. He felt comfortable around Rudolph. If nothing else, he was a straightforward man—there was something to be said for honesty. Merlin knows he hated lying, easy as it was for him.

"Well I'd imagine so," the professor nodded. He scratched his brown beard thoughtfully. "Who would have thought: you and Minerva McGonagall." Rudolph leaned back in his chair comfortably. He had been surprised like the rest of them, but was in the process of mulling over this new information. He obviously felt strange about the situation. After all, everything had suddenly changed.

"Yes," Albus nodded his head.

He blinked pensively. He was with Minerva McGonagall. Not for the first time, he was in a relationship with the woman—but of course, no one else could know that. She hated that they had a past together. Somehow, she thought it made her weak, perhaps, to have been so stupid as to fall in love with her professor. What Minerva failed to understand was that he had been the idiot. He nearly ruined everything just by letting it begin—and end, for that matter.

"She's unhappy with me right now," he breathed.

"Minerva is?" Rudolph leaned forward, a glimmer of interest flitting across his eyes.

Albus nodded. "Oh yes," he reflected gloomily. "She thinks I'm weak for agreeing to comment on the article. She wants to lay low—of course she doesn't see it as anyone else's business."

"Do you?" Rudolph sounded affronted.

The headmaster cleared his throat uncomfortably. Of course he did. The second their love life hit the page, it was everyone's business, or at least of interest to people. He knew that they would have to come clean, as it were, with the public. "I do. I have found that they don't tend to leave me alone whenever they have something they think is worth writing about. I'd rather just get it over with and have an interview."

Rudy raised an eyebrow. "Can I speak bluntly, Albus?"

He nodded his head, "Of course." He would welcome an outsider's opinion. After all, he had nothing to lose in this particular situation.

Rudolph sighed, struggling with his utterly direct and hurtful thought. In the end, he said it: "You are a fearless leader and deserve it. But you care for no one but yourself. Albus—you would give anyone up if it painted you in a good light. And you'd shut them up, if it was the other way around." There was nothing bold in his statements. They were purely reflective. But Albus certainly felt the weight fall upon his shoulders.

"What are you referring to, exactly?"

The professor shrugged. "You had an affair with Gwenella Paige, did you not?"

He nearly choked on his own saliva, jerking forward at the question. Albus cleared his throat. Dear. Merlin. "What in the name of Merlin would give you that idea?"

"Come now," Rudolph said in a very low voice, "don't avoid the question."

"No," Albus shook his head violently, "No, I did not have an affair with that woman—that girl! Honestly, Rudy, what sort of man do you think I am? There is nothing about that girl that is attractive."

Rudy raised an eyebrow. "She pursued you," he whispered with a clear sense of security in his words. Truth or not, he believed what he was saying.

And Albus had nowhere to run. Damn it all. "She did pursue me," Albus hissed, a deep sense of anger overcoming his body. His fingers clenched on top of the table. "But I never, ever, would have accepted her advances. She's a terrible person, not to mention a student at the time."

The pompous air in Rudolph's demeanor fell. He did not believe Albus, but was unwilling to put himself in jeopardy, "My mistake." His body shriveled onto the table. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm trying to pick a fight. I don't even care about this."

His defenses did not disassemble, but Albus did take care to take in the man next to him. He was not well. Curiosity and sympathy filled the man's body, draining out the anger. He was not so affronted that he couldn't see that the problem extended beyond himself. "Has something new happened with Cora?" Albus enquired, knowing well that they had been in a constant row for at least a week now.

"No," he shook his head within the confines of his arms which still sat on the table. "Same bloody thing. They're threatening to throw Sergius out. Again. The damned boy refuses to acclimate."

Ah. Yes. This surprised no one, though his parents certainly had higher hopes; hence the tension. "The term only just started," he raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised by the speed at which that boy moved.

Rudolph let out a horrified guffaw and lifted his bloodshot eyes to look at the Headmaster. "He set a wild owl loose in his classroom by the end of the first week. Then proceeded to set fire to some girl or other's hair. Who thinks of these things?"

Albus shrugged, "A nine year-old wizard in a muggle school."

"It's bloody ridiculous!" he threw his hands out in front of him in frustration. "He can't be in that place. It's not fit for any boy, let alone a wizard! They're trying to change him, suck the life out of him, like dementors! And don't," he pointed a finger at Albus, "argue with me about the properties of dementors. It all amounts to the same bloody thing. They're trying to make him boring and if not that, uptight like Cora and her family. God, say it isn't so! Let the boy be a boy, for Merlin's sake."

They stared at one another, one acknowledging the inappropriateness of his outburst and the other feeling the utmost sympathy for the man. It was a strange situation.

Albus could hear the silent plead for help, for reason, in Rudy's voice but he had none to give. He had no children. He had a strange childhood, himself. He was not married to a woman of muggle parentage—he was not married at all. Besides that, it was a bit of a conflict of interest for Albus to get involved. The truth of course was that Sergius really couldn't stay at Hogwarts, not in a way that would be conducive to his education or social life. The poor boy would just be between his parents constantly.

The headmaster fought back an image of a young girl sitting in a corner with her books.

He had thought that Arianna was in the way, too.

He shook his head violently, throwing away a memory too strong to forget.

"Rudolph," Albus sighed, suddenly seeing himself in this deformed situation, "if I can help you in any way, please let me know. If he needs to find a home here, we can find a way to accommodate him. Don't," he paused to process his thoughts, "don't hesitate."

The professor nodded his head pensively. "I won't. If I had my way, he would never have set foot on any muggle premises. Cora just," he shrugged, "she's blaming me for his behavior. Slytherin blood or something ridiculous like that. She's the biased one, not me. I at least allowed her to put him in a muggle school. Nevermind the fact that what I expected to happen, did."

"It seems to me," Albus swallowed uncomfortably, "that she just wants him to grow up educated."

"You would think that," he pointed a finger at the headmaster, "But _really_, all she wants is a reason to fight me."

"Don't say that." That was a terrible thing to say. While it perhaps was true to a point, it wasn't _the_ truth. Cora cared very much for their son, just as Rudolph did. "And the issue is not who is right and who is wrong. It's not about success. It should," he sighed dejectedly, reflectively, "never be about success. It's about Sergius. Sergius who is not doing well. Who is unhappy. Who is being forced to do something he does not want to do. Rudy," he inhaled deeply, "you said earlier that I care for no one but myself. And that has been true in the past." He paused, allowing the reality to sink in for himself. "Don't let yourself get in the way of your son."

There. That was the advice he had to give. Don't be selfish.

"I don't think I'm the selfish one," Rudolph shook his head violently, "It's Cora."

The man's eyebrow rose, anger and regret flowing into his blood, "Be a man," he stood up from his seat, "act like an adult."

"I should say the same to you."

Albus shook his head, feeling the blow of his statement. He was _the_ ultimate adult, if there ever was one. No one knew just how much he had sacrificed on his road of life—not even Minerva. But he would be better. So much better than he was. He would be the best adult, the best man, there ever was. It was a plea, not a threat that came from his mouth, "Don't attack my manhood, Rudolph."

The same sort of response fell from the other man's lips. "Don't tell me that I'm a bad father."

He swallowed, "You're not." The man paused. "And Cora isn't a bad mother. You just need to listen to one another."

Rudy nodded his head, offense written all over his face, but otherwise he was silent. He took a sip from his tumbler. Calm seemed to return to his system, as it did to Albus's. They understood one another as quarreling friends do.

The professor cleared his throat and looked at Albus straight in the face after a manner of minutes, "I may have said something the other day that would be detrimental to your relationship with Minerva. We were at the quidditch pitch and I implied that you'd been er…approached by students on several occasions."

His heart stopped as the utter shock of incrimination struck his system. He blinked. His jaw opened and closed a considerable amount before he processed the appropriate response, socially speaking. His voice had perhaps never been this crisp, this deadly, "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Rudolph swallowed, looking utterly ashamed of himself—an expression that he rarely wore.

Albus leaned over the table menacingly. Of all of the damned things that Rudy could have done, planting any sort of seed in Minerva's head that there had been others was the worst thing that could have possibly happened. It was damnable. His fingers slid over his wand. "What did you tell her? Did you tell her that it was Gwenella? Because it wasn't and you've no right to assume that I'd sink that low," he growled.

The professor put his hands up to his chest, showing clearly that he was unarmed. He was afraid. And quite rightly, too—Albus was but a hair short of blowing up. Albus took in a deep breath. Why wasn't he saying anything? "Did you tell her that it was Gwenella?"

"No," Rudy shook his head slowly. "I didn't give her a name. All I said was that they'd approached you. I never said that you'd become intimate with them. You're not that sort of man."

"You don't believe that," Albus hissed.

"I think you have morals."

Obviously that was not true. Somehow he had been accused right from the off of succumbing to the allurement of students. Damn it. "You think that I've slept with students in the past."

"I thought," Rudy breathed, "that I saw you kissing a student, once, in your classroom after supper. I just peeked in, but couldn't see who you were with. I assumed it was a student. The next day, I overheard Gwenella Paige bragging about her evening out."

Albus' wand hand shook gently, petrified. "That was not Gwenella Paige and there was only one. Ever." Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. He was about to commit heresy. "That girl was Minerva McGonagall." He dropped his wand to his side. All of the anger had left him. Humility was all that remained.

"No." It was quick and quiet and filled with shock.

The man cleared his throat. "Yes. For all of its insinuations, the article is not completely lacking truth. The affair barely lasted two months, but it happened. I am only telling you," he added on sadly, "because I know you. You'd ask. You would ask Armando. You would, I think, perhaps even ask Minerva. I don't want that. She is far too precious a person to suffer like that. I love her. And I have _always_ loved her," he swallowed down emotion. "You cannot tell anyone. I know," he nodded his head knowingly, "that you can keep a secret if you must. And here, you must, Rudy."

"I will," Rudolph blinked, perhaps trying to put two-and-two together. "You…Minerva…how? When?" he shook his head violently, the unlikeliness of the situation setting in on him.

Albus exhaled, almost as if he was laughing. "Her seventh year. Early October to late November."

"Merlin. What…gumption!"

"Don't say that," Albus shook his head. "I'm not proud. And neither is Minerva. She wouldn't speak to me for years after that. Thought that I'd manipulated her. Broke her, as it were."

"She nearly killed herself," Rudolph reflected, "that year. I remember. You were devoted to her bedside. Merlin, how could we have been so blind?"

"Perhaps," Albus whispered, "it was because she doesn't seem like the type. And she wasn't," he shook his head, "It, as you have been so good as to point out, nearly did kill her."

Rudolph swallowed, putting the pieces together. "And where does Gwenella Paige fit into this?"

The man cleared his throat, frowning in the process. "She was a tart even then, as I'm sure you'll remember. She…at one point, I think, made it a point to try to gain my affections. I turned her down. I think she wants to believe that I was with Minerva—I wasn't, at the time."

"Ah," he nodded gently.

Albus nodded as well, one quick short nod. Yes. This was the truth. It was the whole truth. Some of this was even unknown to Minerva. But it felt good to tell someone. Besides that, Albus knew he could trust Rudy in a way that he could not trust anyone else. They were not unlike one another. Besides that, Rudy had given some of his own secrets away that night—they were locked into an agreement to keep things between themselves.

"Anything else?" Albus whispered.

"No," he shook his head. "Going back to sleep?"

"No," the headmaster inhaled, "I'm going to have a word with Minerva. It's humbling, I think, to recognize that some things are worth fighting over and others aren't." He began walking towards the entrance to the kitchen, but stopped at the doorframe. Albus turned back towards the professor. "Good luck with Sergius," he spoke sincerely, "you two will find a solution."

"Thank you," Rudolph nodded. "We'll find time to chat tomorrow, I'm sure, about our adventures tonight."

Albus nodded with a smile and then left.

* * *

><p>Sleep continually fled in and out of her grasp all night. She kept having nightmares. She saw cameras. Flashes. Screaming. Fighting. She even had a duel with Albus—and lost. This was a terrible night.<p>

Her eyes stared up at the cold gray ceiling. The only thing that seemed to move was the shadows from the clouds. Apparently it was a windy night.

She hated herself, sometimes. She wanted more than anything to see Albus, to be cradled in his arms, but she had told him to let her be. Minerva 'needed' to think to herself about the situation. She needed to accept the fact that she would marry the man and that they would never be left alone again. That she would have to defend herself constantly.

No.

It wouldn't be like that. She had him and he had her. This was just a hurdle that they would clear gracefully. If it was just the two of them for a year, it would be just the two of them again. She could wait it out—_they_ could wait it out.

A creak in the door made Minerva jump up in bed. She brought the covers close to her chest as she watched a tall shadow walk slowly into the room. The fact that it was Albus—and she knew it was just by the shadow—did not stop her heart rate from speeding up. Merlin, had something else in the ever-loving world gone wrong?

"Albus?" she spoke gently. "Albus, what's wrong?"

He stopped in front of her bed. "Did I wake you?" he sounded concerned.

"No," she shook her head. "I haven't been sleeping well. Why on Earth are you here at this time of night?" she looked at the dark figure incredulously. It had to be near three. It just had to. If this was his idea of a romantic interlude, his judgment had been seriously compromised.

"I couldn't sleep, either," he went to the bed and sat down next to her. "So I went to the kitchens to get a glass of milk—come to think it," he paused, "I didn't even get myself one. How amusing," he smiled reflectively. "Anyhow, Rudolph was down there and we had a chat on life, as it were. And um…well, Minerva, he mentioned your conversation at the quidditch pitch."

Her eyes widened. She had temporarily forgotten about that bit of unease that befell her not so long ago. Surely _that_ was what he wanted to address. "What about it?" she whispered ever so eagerly.

Albus cleared his throat and placed his hand on hers, which was currently propping her up. "I want you to know that he was extremely misinformed. Surely you can't believe that I would have ever carried on with another in the way that I did with you." His blue eyes reflected the light well. He was being sincere. "I don't profess to remember every little detail of how it started, but I do remember a certain reluctance on both of our parts. I never would have done it with you, if it didn't feel," he looked for the correct word and finally found it, "right."

A wide smile overtook her face. No, she never really believed that he would have carried on with another student. He was too pained afterward to have set out on that venture again. Besides that, it would take a very strong person to keep something like that a secret after being thrown to the curb. She would have found out the truth by now. Nonetheless, she smiled. He was really worried.

Minerva scooted herself next to the man and leaned on his chest. It felt inviting and warm. "Albus," she whispered, "It was a fleeting thought. I know you have some sense of propriety. Even our affair," she blinked, "was in its own way remarkably proper; planned, even. You couldn't do that with just anyone. And what's more," she added carefully, "I would have heard by now. Not everyone is as good at keeping secrets as I am." She planted a kiss on his lips for effect.

The man cleared his throat. "Well that's surprising," he shrugged. "So you didn't think that he was telling the truth?"

"No," she shook her head. "I think that I know you, Albus Dumbledore. You wouldn't do what you did to me twice. Sh," she put a finger to his lips when he began to retort, "I trust you."

"Well that's just…refreshing," he smiled.

She raised an eyebrow. "Trusting?"

He shrugged. "I don't give you enough credit, Min. If I don't say it often enough, I want you to know that I think that you are just brilliant and kind and I really don't deserve you."

"Albus," she pecked him on the lips softly, "thank you." What else was she to say? She was grateful to his statement, but she found it humbling to hear the sincerity in his voice. He believed what he said.

That was all it took for the subject to be dropped, for them to slip into a happy state of being, where she placed her head on his chest and he cradled her in his arms. She flung her legs over his and he pulled her close. She did not want to think about the papers or the events of the day. She wanted nothing but sleep which had eluded her for the better part of the evening. He made her feel comfortable.

"Minerva," he whispered through the silence.

"Albus," she whispered back, a smile coming over her face.

"Silly girl," he began running his hand through her hair which was strewn across her back. "Are you angry with me, still?"

Minerva inhaled deeply and thought before responding. Of course he was referring to the staff meeting. And the interview. "No, I'm not angry. You're right. We can't avoid it forever. It's good that the staff knows. And then we can stop hiding. I can go to ministry functions as your date—not just a colleague. We can stop all of this lying. Have I ever told you," she whispered, suddenly affronted, "how much I detest lying?"

"You have," he replied gently. "And I don't blame you at all. It's a terrible thing to do. But it's necessary, sometimes. Eventually, you know, truth will out." He paused. It was clear that a new, though not completely unrelated thought came to him. "Minerva, we are going to continue to deny that we ever…were, before now, correct?"

"Yes," she nodded her head. This was not an issue at all, not at this point. It never happened. Hard as it was to keep inside of her, she at least had become accustomed to lying about this particular subject. She could do that without any qualms. She would die with this secret in her mind. "It never happened," she whispered. "I fell in love with you at the ball a year ago. You were handsome. And sweet," she smiled. Suddenly she was back there, seeing him for the first time in what seemed like forever—and yet as though no time had passed at all. "And charming," she sighed. "You were so charming. And you saved me," she half giggled. "You saved me from a terrible date with your dancing. You cut in. For me," she grinned. She felt the glow of love on her cheeks.

"I did," he sighed. "You were a sight for sore eyes, Minerva. You really were."

"You knew I would be there," she blushed under the enchantment that befell her. The moonlight, of course, allowed it to stay hidden. Had he felt her face, however, he would know.

He kissed her on the forehead. "I did. And I hoped that you would find me charming. And sweet. And forgive me. In real life. In this semi-fictional meeting, you reminded me sharply of a girl that I once loved. It was only after I began speaking to you that I realized you weren't her. You were better."

It was things like that which made her love him. He had a way with words, with blending the fiction and the reality into a beautiful web of events. "Was I?" she whispered, swept away by his kindness.

"So much better. After all," he chuckled, "_You_, my dear, are qualified to teach here. Which means that I can just drop in like this at insane hours of the night and have these deep conversations with you—even though you clearly need to sleep. There will be classes today, you know."

She chuckled to herself and buried her head into his chest. "Does this mean you'll tuck me in, Professor?"

"While I hardly think that it's in the job description, Miss McGonagall"—his eyes twinkled—"I suppose I can do that much. Get on with it. Scoot over to your side again."

Minerva grinned as she slid her legs off of him and placed them under the sheets. He thought it was funny, how she slept. While he preferred to kick up any and all blankets, she kept them neatly tucked under the mattress. She could perhaps be compared to a can of sardines. It was just a thing, just a quirk. But he laughed at her in a very loving way and she laughed at him in the same manner. It was part of being in a relationship.

"Packed in tight?" he teased.

"There's room for one more," she whispered. She knew she was walking on a thin line by asking him to stay over. It was not something she ever wanted to happen on a regular basis, sleepovers on school nights. But truth be told, she did typically sleep better with him nearby. Besides that, they had been made known. No one would think anything different than what they already knew, should they see Albus Dumbledore emerge from Minerva McGonagall's rooms in the early morning.

He thought about it. She could see the proverbial bludger being hit in his head back and forth. In the end, he nodded his head. "I'll have to get up earlier than normal, you know. Maybe we'll work on creating a passageway between our rooms next weekend."

She liked the sound of that idea. No one would be able to tell outside of their rooms that they were inhabiting the same space. And that's what she wanted: both anonymity and the luxury of carrying on normally with the man. "That sounds like a worthy venture," she smiled.

"I think so," he pulled the covers on his side from under the mattress. "It could be fun, living with one another. Almost like we were married." The man slid himself under the covers and curled to face Minerva, who was looking at him contentedly. "Are you able to stomach the idea of something as nauseating as marrying me?"

Minerva's eyebrows rose as she scooted herself into his arms. "You know damned well that I don't find it nauseating at all. I find it romantic," she poked him gently on the nose—a nose which she loved more than any other nose, crooked as it was. "It's time for bed," Minerva sighed.

Albus nodded his head. "It's too late to talk about these things, anyhow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll talk about serious things."

She turned around so that her back rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms around hers. Her knees bent as his pushed from behind. This was warm, comfortable. Merlin, he made her feel happy. "Albus?" she whispered into the darkness as a thought came to mind.

"Yes, Love?"

"I want to tell my parents this week about the engagement."

"We will," Albus breathed into her ear. "I just want you happy. Tell me when you would like to go and we will. They'll understand. They're good people."

The woman closed her eyes. "And they love you."

"Who wouldn't?" he joked.

"Shut your face," she smiled. "You're too bombastic for _everyone_ to love you."

"I think, Minerva, that your sleepiness is clouting your judgment."

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. She _was_ infinitely happy. There was no need to address his silly statement. "Goodnight, Love."

"Goodnight," he whispered and kissed her on the cheek.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please<p> 


	6. Your Worst

**Chapter Six: Your Worst**

They exchanged glances before they went into the Great Hall, side by side. Of course Minerva was more nervous than Albus, but it wasn't as though he lacked nerves. She could tell. There was a curious twitch at the edge of his left lip that allowed her to believe that he was not nearly as stoical as he pretended to be.

It occurred to her, anyhow, that she must have resembled him in terms of facial expression. After all, when she put her mind to it, she could be as strong as she wanted to be—and she desperately wanted to stay strong. Yesterday was the day for tears. Today was the day to live in yet another evolution of her life.

Most students took some notice of them as they approached the staff table, but if they were discussed aloud, Minerva did not catch it. If that was the case, they whispered it. She chose to think that perhaps she had blown it out of proportion: students did not care nearly as much as she would have thought. Her love life did not concern them. Gossip did not concern them.

Of course she knew better.

When she sat at her seat, she was immediately met with conversation from Sunny who apparently had only just sat down, considering the lack of hastily eaten food on her plate. She chewed on a piece of toast as she began chatting. "You look like you haven't slept. Rough night?"

Minerva nodded her head, becoming aware of just how little she did sleep, "I was in and out all night. I didn't sleep soundly until after four." She felt the back of her head begin to pound, just by the simple act of remembering. It was going to be a long, terrible day. She tried to focus on Sunny's kind face.

"Minerva, you know that you could have come for a sleeping draught. Both Graham and I have them. Maybe it would do you good to get one or two sometime today for future sleepless nights?" There would be more of them. What a sad thought that was.

She shrugged it off, "I think my future nights will be comparatively calmer than last night. I don't see what other shock I could receive that would keep me up all night."

The nurse raised an eyebrow, "You've got a wedding to plan, haven't you?"

Of course they had hardly gotten anywhere with that, but they did in fact have one in their future. Minerva nodded. "We haven't decided much of anything at all, but yes."

"You'll have plenty of sleepless nights," Sunny pursed her lips and took a sip of orange juice. She enjoyed the citrus in her mouth, closing her eyes for just a second too long to be considered a blink. The lady was pensive. "Even without interference from the press, it's a stressful endeavor," she added gently. It was clear by her tone that she had no intention of being cruel or worrying Minerva. Fortunately, Minerva had given this thought already.

"I'm not worrying about the press," she smiled confidently. "It's only a wedding."

Sunny cleared her throat of toast. "My dear, you do realize what this wedding would mean to people, don't you?"

The Professor blinked, ever so slightly affronted. "Because of Albus?"

"Yes," she nodded, before taking another bite of dry toast. She chewed loudly. Her eyes never left Minerva, who for some unknown reason to her was feeling threatened.

The girl licked her dry lips. She was completely aware of Albus' reputation amongst ministry officials and the larger wizarding community. He was a hero—and he really was, but that gave no one the right to hoard his time or affection. Let them feel how they wanted to feel, but their demand for Albus Dumbledore would not be heard. This wedding would be about the two of them and no one else. "I won't allow it to become a big hullabaloo. It's about us."

"Keep up that attitude," Sunny smiled gently. "Fight them off with a vengeance. It will be good practice for a lifetime of defense."

What a terrible thought. Minerva shrunk back inside of herself. "We'll manage," she smiled, deflecting the terror that just filled her system. "This will not be worthy of anyone's interest if we don't make it so. Same with anything else that should happen in the future."

Sunny nodded her head in approval. "You two complement each other well. Your humility becomes you, Minerva. With any luck, you'll keep the Headmaster's feet on the ground." The lady took her final bite of toast and then another swig of her juice. This time, however, she did not stand up straight away. Sunny looked at Minerva, a thought clearly waiting to come out appeared in her eyes. She swallowed. "I had thought," she leaned in to whisper, "that there was something there when you were a student. Nothing serious, of course. But I must say that I'm not entirely surprised that things should have evolved the way that they seem to have," she smiled approvingly.

Minerva smiled, perhaps understanding something for the first time. "You're a romantic, aren't you?" she half giggled.

"Perhaps," she grinned, her brown eyes glimmering in the morning light. "I was young and in love once, too. You've got a familiar glow about you, that's all. Good day to you, Minerva," she nodded and stood up from her seat. As she left the table, she put a hand on Minerva's shoulder, which was greatly appreciated. It was nice to know that the staff approved. What's more, it was nice to know that Sunny approved—she knew more than anyone else on staff could possibly know about Albus and Minerva.

The woman inhaled gently, feeling a sense of exhilaration charging her system. It would be alright.

Her grin seemed to have radiated across the staff table, for simultaneously both Albus and Thurston turned to look at her. She sat back in her seat, allowing for the bodies of Rudolph Tate and Dorian Bloom to block her from view. She felt the blush on her face. It made no sense, feeling embarrassed for celebrating what really should not matter to her at all, but she felt it. It wasn't lasting, but she felt it for that second.

She leaned forward again, to see if either man's gaze stayed in her direction. She found another head added to the mixture: Cora. The three of them were leaning over, looking at her. Minerva raised an eyebrow, now wondering what on Earth they could be talking about—surely it was her. The woman stood up from her chair and walked over to the three of them, all sitting in a row.

Minerva cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow, a playful gesture on her lips, "Can I help the three of you?"

It was Thurston who spoke. "We were just discussing the initial spark between you and the Headmaster."

"Oh," she blinked, ever so slightly surprised. Who could have guessed that their relationship would be the talk of the castle? Anyone, probably, had they given it sufficient thought. She turned towards Albus, her social skills returning to her—not to mention her flirtation skills. "What ever have you been saying, Headmaster?"

Albus cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling as they had at the ball. "I've only just gotten to the part where I saved you from an awful dance partner."

The woman leaned down between Cora and Thurston. "He did save me," she smiled shrewdly, "and we had a wonderful dance. After that, we went outside and chatted in the moonlight. It was a beautiful night; the moon was full," she inhaled deeply as the thought ascended onto her. That wasn't the end of it. "He asked me to teach—he had been researching my work, apparently, since I left and seemed to think that it would be appropriate for me to replace him. Amazing what a few papers expanding your professors work will do for you." The shrewd smirk did not leave her face. She prided herself on the fact that he had to find her and win her—and that he wanted her for her intelligence.

Cora, whose green and blue outfit had her appearing more peacock-like than usual spoke: "I've read your work, Minerva. It's quite impressive. I had not anticipated, you being such a skilled athlete, that you would produce such insightful thoughts."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. That sort of thing sounded like a compliment, but she was not entirely sure that it was meant that way. "Well thank you, Professor Elvsted," she smiled politely. "Our Headmaster taught me well. We spent," she looked at Albus whose face had on it a mixture of pride and love, "many hours discussing his work when I was a student. It came naturally. And so I am here. On all counts, I think, one can blame our dear Headmaster."

"My dear Professor McGonagall," Albus pointed a wiggly finger at her, "You never had to say yes to anything."

She felt a blush creeping on her face. Minerva looked between Thurston and Cora, both of whom had knowing expressions: the whole of the staff knew that they were engaged. "It's true," she whispered gently, "but as life would have it, Professor, I want everything that I have. And I am ecstatic to be here. I don't mind the challenges ahead."

"I had forgotten what a delight you can be," Thurston chimed in. "You're like a fire of defiance, daring the world to do its worst."

"Ah, to be twenty-five again," Cora sighed.

"She's always been like that," Albus grinned.

The conversation went on, Minerva knew, but she ignored it for some odd seconds. Was she like that? Did she challenge the world to do its worst? She had asked Albus not to. Surely that meant that that part of her had gone. Or perhaps she simply chose her battles. Yes, that's what she liked to tell herself. She did not fight what she could not win. Minerva simply accepted things if there was no hope. She was judicious like that.

Her mind brought her back to one of those few life-defining moments.

The train. The Hogwarts platform. The total and utter devastation of seeing and chatting with the man before the whole of the student body. How he wanted to reignite their affair when she was numb from pain. The way she held herself up high: mighty, majestic and tall. Her curtness. The way she died inside to see his eyes grow dull. Do your worst, she had said. And he did. But she did it right back. And that was, perhaps, the last time she ever deigned to hurt another human being. Of course, it had been at the expense of hurting herself. They were even.

She blinked herself back to reality, looking between Thurston and Cora.

"And of course, I respond with 'what do you think the stick is for? It's not a wand'," Cora smiled imperiously.

Both Albus and Thurston laughed. Minerva smiled gently. She had caught the punch-line but missed the rest. Oh well.

"I'm off to class, then," she smiled at the threesome.

Albus lifted his head curiously, "Surely you can't have eaten?"

"I'm not hungry," she nodded her head gently. "I'll see you all at lunch."

Minerva looked at Albus, who clearly did not approve, but he said nothing. He loved food more than pretty much anything else—people in general, of course, were an exception and Minerva in particular. Her nod to the man, she hoped, would communicate both the fact that she was fine and that she loved him. Nothing else would do in public.

Both Thurston and Cora said goodbye as Minerva passed them.

She walked herself leisurely to the transfiguration classroom and began writing the day's lesson on the chalkboard. She preferred to write it by hand, mostly because it allowed for the lesson to sink in beforehand. Minerva _was_ still quite new at teaching and her curriculum had not yet become a part of her.

She wrote the page numbers of the lesson down, followed by a complex diagram of a human changing into a bird. Seventh years.

The woman allowed the chalk to rest on the board for a second. Her throbbing head thudded against the green. Her head felt heavy. And it felt good to close her eyes for just a second. The world became one of echoes, reverberations from one chair to the steps outside the hallway. It was almost as if everything was in slow motion; she knew that she was not hearing things in real-time.

It would have been different, she pondered softly to herself, if they could have waited. He could have paused for a moment and thought about all that he had to lose and stopped. But he didn't. And she didn't, either. If that decision had been different, if she had not allowed him to kiss her, then there never would have been an affair. God, it wasn't right at all. As she heard the students begin their leisurely walks into class, Minerva wondered what could have possibly been going through Albus' mind to cause him to take up with a student. She wasn't nearly as old as he was when she first made love to the man, yet she could not imagine doing what he had done. Do your worst. Is that what she communicated to him?

She lifted her head up from the board and turned to face the students. Only about half of the class had made its way in, but she didn't mind. Her eyes soaked in every feature of the students, including the one that currently sat in the desk she had claimed as a student. The second row, right in the middle; that was the seat.

"How are you today, Mr. Jenkins?" she smiled pleasantly at the Huffelpuff keeper.

"Just fine, Professor," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I had a bit of trouble with the homework, though. I did it," he added hastily, "but it took me hours."

Minerva stared at the boy, realizing that something had changed in his behavior towards her. She had caught him mid-thought, or else he'd have been bright and witty as he usually was. Instead he was…well, confused, almost. The woman wrote it off as curiosity—or confusion, which perhaps are nearly the same thing.

She pursed her lips together softly, "These things aren't going to be easy anymore, Mr. Jenkins. If you'd like a career that involves transfiguration, you're going to have to work hard. And as I've told the class on several occasions already, I'm going to ask you to try to do things that you simply won't be able to do." Minerva blinked, pondering this thought, then felt the need to add, "And read things that you won't necessarily understand. You can't get anywhere without trying to understand things that are beyond your reach."

"Professor?" Mr. Jenkins looked troubled.

The woman nodded and waited for the inevitable question.

He cleared his throat again and shrugged, "You've got chalk on your forehead."

A smile twitched at her mouth. "Thank you for telling me," she whispered gently, "Excuse me." Minerva walked to one of the many windows of the room, where she promptly used her sleeve to erase the chalk residue. Her ears opened once again as the buzz of the classroom grew louder. Most of the class had nearly arrived.

Of course they wouldn't dare talk about her in her own classroom, but she knew what they all were thinking. The girls were wondering how Albus had romanced her and the boys were wondering how good the shagging was. That's what all teenage boys thought. Well, they wouldn't be hearing anything from her on the subject, but it didn't stop her from acknowledging that these questions hung in the air. The plan would simply be to give them more work so that they might think much less about gossip and much more about transfiguration. After all, that's what school was for.

She turned back towards the class, which grew quieter as she approached her desk. "Good morning," she spoke gently, though authoritatively, "In the spirit of the weekend's events, I'd like you to open your books to page 281. Our unit on regeneration begins today." Her lips curved up in a cocky fashion. Puns were most enjoyable—she'd have to remember to tell Albus about it. After all, her career was launched under this topic.

* * *

><p>"No, I will <em>not<em> do it under any circumstances," Albus seethed, staring into the fire. "_We_ will not do it. You must come to us."

Maximillian Woodfork looked as if he was enjoying himself: watching the greatest wizard of the age losing his temper was not something one saw often. He shrugged through the flames, "You're the one in a predicament, Dumbledore. My game, my rules."

"No," he shook his head exasperatedly. "You have nothing to prove by making us come to you."

"Only that you can, in fact, be bullied," he grinned.

"Damn it!" Albus shouted, flinging his wand in the direction of the fire. "I am trying to be civil and cooperate with your damnable insinuations! We have _nothing_ to hide," he hissed. "The least you dunces could do is act like ruddy adults!"

Woodfork cleared his throat gently, "_Only_ insinuations?"

Albus inhaled deeply. Of all the idiots, all the twits that he could have come into contact with, it had to be this one. If Albus had an ego-complex, Woodfork had it by a power of three. Reporters. What a damnable lot, sucking up sludge at the bottom of a cesspool to survive. "Yes, only insinuations. I don't know what Gwenella Paige told you, but I assure you that none of it is true. We've nothing to hide."

"And if I were to, say, ask Armando Dippit? What would he have to say?"

His heart sank. He hadn't had a chance to speak with Armando yet. But surely he would keep it a secret. He still had Hogwarts—and Albus'—interests at heart. "That what you're proposing is preposterous," he claimed, the challenge reeking in his voice. "Armando was never given any implication that any sort of unethical conduct was occurring and he wouldn't have, because it never happened. If I were you, I would take on another angle before you get taken to court for libel."

For once, Maximillian Woodfork was silent. Yes, he could throw out threats all he wanted, but he couldn't take them. He wasn't so sure that he'd be willing to risk his entire career on this subject. He couldn't be. After all, his informant had been Gwenella Paige who would do or say anything to continue living. Albus took it back—Gwenella was the lowest of the low in the cesspool of life.

Woodfork shrunk back. "Let's make a deal, Dumbledore. I'll drop the story if you'll agree to do a transcribed interview with Miss McGonagall."

Albus thought about it carefully before answering. He raised an eyebrow, "I want the questions in advance. If you add any new ones in, I reserve the right to not answer as will Minerva. I also reserve the right to edit out any questions you give me beforehand."

The reporter licked his charcoal lips. "You'll be coming to me, then?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and swallowed it down. He hated negotiations. Something was always lost. "Very well. Owl me the questions and propose some dates to me for the interview. I'll get back to you after I've gone over them with Minerva by owl. Is that satisfactory?"

A grin crossed Woodfork's face. "Yes. Most satisfactory," he spoke slowly. "Good evening." And he disappeared. The flames returned and Albus continued staring into the fire.

He hated this part of it. The politics of it all.

Albus missed the days when he could just do things for the sake of doing them without being noticed, without being somebody.

If he was anyone else, none of this situation would have ever come about. Look at Rudolph and Cora: they weren't important enough to be in the paper, despite their problems. Lucky them for being just professors.

Ah, but he had to be Albus Dumbledore—and she had to be Minerva McGonagall, for that matter. If there was one thing that the article did right, it pointed out the appropriateness of their relationship. If there was one woman on paper who was meant for Albus, it would probably be Minerva—at least looking in her age range. She was brilliant. She was beautiful. She did have parents of note. She could be anything.

There would be some, perhaps, who looked at the two of them being mutually attracted to status and power. But it wasn't like that, of course. Still, it would be said of them—her, in particular. Well fie on them. They didn't matter, anyhow. He knew what was real and that was Minerva.

The man let out a sigh. He turned slowly and walked towards Fawkes, who was currently cleaning himself. "You know what a lucky bugger you are?" he smiled softly. Fawkes' head snapped up to look him in the eye. "You can leave anytime you want, you know. I can't."

The bird jumped off of his perch and waited at the edge of the desk for Albus to arrive. His let his fingers touch the head of the thing. Fawkes was looking old at the moment. It wouldn't be long at all before he started over, as it were.

Albus sighed sadly, "I wonder what it's like to start over like that, to have that freedom. You should tell me, sometime. Merlin knows, I'd like to redo nearly everything."

He shut his eyes and allowed himself to just feel the feathers on his hands. It was a wonderful feeling. Like satin, almost, on his hands. A guilty pleasure.

Despite himself, he could not help but allow his thoughts to transgress. In his mind's eye, he could see himself running his hands over Minerva's collarbone to remove her robes. He saw it fall, the outermost layer, to the ground in a clump of green—he always imagined her in green. And that challenging, knowing, look on her face. 'Come and get me' she seemed to say. So he would, kissing her first on the mouth, then the neck—he loved how heavy her breath got when he kissed her there. His hands explored the curvature of her back, then down to the tops of her legs, and finally between them. That little audible whisper of surprise had not yet left their sexual encounters—for that, he was glad.

His eyes flicked open.

He couldn't be doing this to himself now. There were things to be done. People to see. Armando was at the top of that list. Then several others—Minerva, unfortunately, was towards the bottom of that list. No, she wasn't even towards the bottom. She was at the bottom.

Albus sighed.

She would forgive him.

* * *

><p><em>tomorrow night.<em>

_Love,_

_Minerva_

The woman dotted the i above her name and smiled softly to herself. Everything would be loads better after she had an evening with her parents.

She placed the parchment in an envelope and waxed the seal before stamping it. It needed to be sent straight away; otherwise her parents would not have time to prepare themselves or the house. They cared about those sorts of things.

Pushing her seat behind her, Minerva walked around the desk of her office to the door and out into the hall. She began in the direction of the owlery, finding it difficult to make her way through the clumps of students: class had only just been let out.

She wove her way through the students and out into the front of the castle. It was chilly outside; absolutely freezing. It surprised her. The autumn was finally setting in on the grounds. In the distance, she caught glimpse of the tree; her tree, which had begun its changing of leaves from green to yellows and browns. The setting sun only helped to make the tree more beautiful and majestic.

Her gaze shifted from the tree and then towards the owlery.

But she stopped before heading in that direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn that she saw someone. She turned again and began heading towards the tree.

Indeed there was a person. Only she was in the foliage, sitting on a branch holding a broom.

"Miss Landon?" Minerva called up.

The girl had realized that Minerva was heading in her direction long before her professor got there. She had taken to being completely still, attempting to blend in with the tree. Her attempt failed.

Kate Landon looked down from the tree. "Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

A smile played on her lips. There wasn't anything wrong. The girl had simply chosen to sit where Minerva sat as a student. Kate would never know that her professor nearly wept herself to oblivion under that tree.

Minerva shaded her eyes as she looked into the leaves, "Are you getting on up there?"

"Yes," she shouted as a breeze came through the tree. "I like to think up here"

The woman nodded. It was good for that. "Please, don't let me ruin your thoughts. Do be careful when you get down."

Miss Landon nodded her head, "I will, Professor."

With that, Minerva began leaving the tree, but the girl's voice called her back. Kate looked at her with the joy of a naïve teenage girl. "I think it's sweet, you and Professor Dumbledore."

In Kate's face, the woman saw something that she had seen already once on Sunny's face that could only expose her romantic nature. But then again, Minerva supposed that all teenagers had it in their heads that life was nothing more than a romantic adventure. And while Minerva had been rid of some of those notions for quite some time now, she knew that she still had it in her as well. Maybe it was just a contagion amongst women.

The woman let out a sigh while a smile played on her lips. She only barely felt the sting of mid-September on her face, she was so warmed by the sincerity of the girl. "That's a very kind thing for you to say, Miss Landon; very kind indeed. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiled softly.

Minerva took in a deep breath. What a sweet girl. "I'll be off, then. I have a letter that needs to be owled. Enjoy your evening."

"You too, Professor," she called out as Minerva began walking towards the owlery, as she had originally intended. Minerva's gaze turned in that direction, forgetting the tree and the teenage girl that currently sat in it as she once had.

At the top of the owlery, Minerva was surprised to find Cora Elvsted, petting an owl. She let out a cry of surprise, "Cora?"

Minerva didn't know what was so surprising about seeing Professor Elvsted in the owlery—even she had people that she surely wanted to contact on a regular basis. Still, it had never felt as though she cared much for anyone, ever. Perhaps she still had parents. Or maybe she did some sort of research on her own.

"Minerva," she nodded, a quick, insincere smile crossed her face. "Sending in some new research?"

The younger woman cleared her throat. It wasn't the question that offended her, it was the tone. Why say anything if you were going to be dismissive about it? Minerva pursed her lips. "No, I'm owling my parents. And what brings you up here?"

"It's personal," she snapped.

Minerva inhaled deeply, feeling both perplexed and annoyed. What in the bloody hell was this woman's problem? She stared at Cora, whose back was to her.

And then she noticed something. The owl had gone, but Cora was still leaning over, shaking ever so slightly. Minerva knew that posture well.

She did not approach the older professor, but neither did she leave. She watched, head reeling and heart breaking, as Cora leaned over the edge of the window to stifle the sounds she was making to keep all under control. This nullified nearly every vision Minerva had of the woman.

Once she registered that Minerva was neither leaving nor going to antagonize her, Cora turned violently and stared at the young professor. She had never looked so ugly—or so human—as she did in that moment. Tears lined her red face, raw from tears and the cold. Her whole body seemed to sag, weighted down with anxiety and fear.

Minerva's heart ached at the sight.

They stared at one another silently for what may have been minutes, but felt like seconds. "I am free to chat if you need someone," Minerva finally said sadly.

Cora nodded her head and swallowed. The tears had not stopped, but the shaking had. She watched Minerva, set in her position on the ground, as control returned to her face. Clearly, she refused the younger woman's offer. She preferred to deal with her anguish on her own. Not surprising, really.

Ten minutes of silence passed as Cora reassembled herself. A half-hearted smile crossed her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered sadly, "I'm not usually like this."

The younger woman shook her head. "No," she whispered back. This was absolutely true. With anyone else, Minerva may have gone over and wrapped her arms around the woman, attempted to comfort her, but she was too perplexed by the scene in front of her to move an inch. Cora Elvsted always had control—even when she was angry, she had control. What was this, to see her so wild? "You know," Minerva sighed, struggling to find wisdom, "You look like you need to speak with someone."

Nearly half of a smile crossed Cora's face, but her lips went no farther. "I'll be fine," she nodded her head. "This was just a temporary lapse in strength. Don't worry about me. Besides," she shrugged knowingly, "you've got your own set of problems and I couldn't burden you. Don't um…don't tell anyone, right?"

Minerva blinked, "Cora, I can't do that."

The woman with the raw face shook her head from side to side with knowing. "Don't tell Rudy, then."

She cleared her throat. Minerva had learned long ago the importance of not keeping it in. Sometimes, it wasn't necessary to tell everyone how one is feeling, but certainly someone should be made aware. In Cora's case, Rudolph Tate should be informed. After all, he was her husband. "He's the first person I'm going to tell. You're not well, Professor."

Cora took a step towards Minerva with the plea of desperation written over her face. If it was the last thing she did, she made sure that the younger woman understood her. She placed her hands on the professor's shoulders. "Rudy can't know that I'm such a mess. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Please, Minerva, please don't tell him. I'll get better." She nodded her head gently, reassuringly. "I'll talk to him," the woman whispered.

Whether or not she believed it, she felt the urgency in Cora's voice enough to stop her from alerting Rudolph of the situation. Minerva knew that there was something in this state of affairs which was beyond her. Cora was not simply unhappy. It had to do with them; with their relationship. It had to do with why she was so angry at the pitch the other day. She couldn't do anything about it, anyway. Defeated, Minerva let out a sigh, "I'll know if you don't."

The older woman nodded her head, assured that she had the upper hand in the situation. "I will," she smiled softly. "I must look terrible."

"You do," Minerva sighed. She was finished keeping up pretenses. She had lost and had a new secret to keep. The woman was in no mood to be gentle anymore. Cora really did need to chat with her husband. "You should go and see Rudy now, while you're still vulnerable. You can't fight like this. It's not good for you or anyone else around you."

Cora nodded her head. "I think I just hit a low point. I'll um…I'll go and find him. He gets out of class soon." And she walked past Minerva, out of the owlery without so much as a good-bye, let alone a thank you.

Minerva stood, frozen. She recounted the last twenty minutes in her mind. She came to the owlery. Cora Elvsted cried. Cora Elvsted ignored her offer to chat. And Cora Elvsted begged her not to say anything to Rudolph Tate about what happened. Now Minerva was the only one in the owlery besides the birds.

Minerva McGonagall still didn't understand what had just occurred.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R Please.<p> 


	7. The McGonagall Estate

**Chapter Seven: The McGonagall Estate**

"I just don't understand," Minerva sighed softly to the man next to her. "I don't know where they could be. Maybe in the back."

They passed through the hallway silently, the woman in the lead. It was odd and quite alarming that her parents were not in the house—they had even checked by charm. Rarely did either of them leave the house by the time nightfall came and what's more was that they certainly had received the owl Minerva sent them. They were expected.

Confusion growing into worry, Minerva's pace sped up as they came upon the door that led to the back of the house. She flung the door open to find a particularly large bonfire hovering over the ground and two middle-aged people behind it, wands pointed at one another.

Minerva's head cocked to one side. Oh Merlin, they were at it again.

Albus leaned down to the woman's ear, "You don't seem worried."

She took in a deep breath, then it out along with a pair of rolling eyes. "Mother likes to use the spells she invents on father. It's best to wait for them to notice us."

The man cleared his throat. "And you think that I'm eccentric."

"Oh no," she shook her head gently, eyes still on the two dark figures in the short distance, "they have definitive problems with thrill-seeking. As far as I know, you've moved on from that sort of thing."

"Have I?" he raised an eyebrow.

She moved her head away from the scene before her to look at the man who had a smirk upon his face. "Not to put too fine a point on it, Love, but I should hope so. I'm glad that I didn't have to worry about you while you were out dueling higher evils and things. I'd have been a wreck."

"You wouldn't have tried to go with me?"

Her lips shifted upwards ever so slightly, "I'd have tried."

The man's right hand slid behind her back and onto her waist, pulling her closer to him. "I wouldn't have let you, talented as you are," he joked. "I'd have snuck ou—Did she just transfigure his head?"

Minerva cleared her throat and nodded, "Oh yes. What do you think, some sort of arachnid?"

Albus nodded his head slowly, carefully. "Definitely. It's quite tarantula-like."

She gazed at her father's pincers and large eyes, reflecting the firelight. Merlin, they were silly. "She was asking me questions about poisonous arachnids in her last letter to me. It's likely that you're right. Just wait," she nodded her head knowingly, "in a second she'll manage to turn him back to normal—with the exception of his hair." A short giggle escaped her mouth, "Somehow he always comes back bald. Makes me wonder why he even bothers to treat his hair. We all know it isn't real."

"Minerva!"

The woman's gaze shifted to the other side of the firelight, where her mother stood. Her arms were wide open, welcoming. Temporarily, apparently, her half-formed father barely mattered at all. Minerva walked over to her mother, pulling Albus behind her. She was thrust into a warm embrace with Mrs. Emienne McGonagall, who jerked Albus into her arms after Minerva's turn.

She smiled to herself as she watched her excited mother hug the man, which immediately became extraordinarily amusing once Minerva's father entered the immediate area. For a second, Albus jumped back at the sight of the fangs. A short giggle escaped Minerva's lips.

"Don't worry, Albus. He's not interested in hurting you," Emienne chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Minerva whose amusement was evident. "Excuse me," she turned and pointed her wand at the man. "_Ferra Normalis_," she whispered.

In a manner of seconds, a bald version of Braxton McGonagall stood before them, eyes wide with temporary confusion. "I hate it when you do that, Emmy. You really ought to tell me when you're going to give me multiple windows of vision. You'd be surprised," he turned to look at Albus, "what going from eight to two eyes will do to your perception of things." He stuck out a hand for Albus to shake.

"How was it to see in the darkness?" Minerva smiled.

"Just as you'd expect," he admitted, "but my god, that firelight burns! I didn't realize that you were here. How long have you been here?" he asked, wrapping his arms around his daughter.

"Just long enough to see the show," she grinned. "Well done, Mum," Minerva looked at her mother, "looks like another success. Although I'm not entirely sure why you'd choose to have such a last-minute experiment."

Emienne shrugged, "We thought we'd live on the wild side tonight. Shall we get out of the cold?"

Minerva looked at Albus who nodded his head anxiously: his coat was inside the house. "I think so. We don't want Albus Dumbledore to catch a cold, now do we?"

"Of course not," Mrs. McGonagall responded, a warm and knowing smile emanating from her lips.

The foursome began walking up the steps that led to the back door in pairs: Albus and Minerva held hands while following the arm-in-arm couple of Emienne and Braxton McGonagall. It was comfortable, playful, almost what Albus whispered to her as they ascended the stairs: "Don't throw my name around like that. What's in a name, really?"

She stopped walking, her lips curling into a smile and he followed suit. Minerva raised an eyebrow and whispered, "You forget that I'll be sharing it with you—or have you forgotten why we're here?"

Albus cleared his throat gently and poked her on the nose. He found it comical, he did. "I haven't. I don't forget these sorts of things, Miss McGonagall."

Her jaw moved downward ever so slightly at the use of the term "Miss". "Good," she whispered shrewdly, "I'd hate for Mr. Albus Dumbledore to be losing his mind."

"There you go again," he shook his head in exaggerated disbelief, "using the name. It's so incriminating, don't you think?"

Minerva shook her head. "I think it's a brilliant name, befitting for a brilliant man," she gushed. It was not her normal style, but she was ecstatic to be home, away from the castle and with people that she loved. It didn't matter if she gushed here—no one but them would know and they would all forgive her. "You know that there is no one else in the world like you and so you'll be keeping your unique name."

"I will, will I?" he grinned cheekily.

"Oh yes," she laughed merrily, "they'd have to change your name in the history books, if you changed your name now. Why go to all the trouble?"

The man shrugged, "Defiance."

What a crazy, stupid, amusing man; as if he ever for a second truly hated his name. Albus Dumbledore loved the fact that everyone knew him and everything about him, at least on a certain level. While she knew that he had a hatred for the press, for the way that they were creeping in on their lives, for the way that they were forcing them into a situation, he enjoyed the outcome. He wanted privacy, but had no qualms when out in public: he bore the title of a great wizard well.

"Defiance against what?" she whispered, fully aware, suddenly, of what had happened in the last few days. "Who you are? What they make of you? What you've done? Somehow I don't think that one can deny that no matter what you choose to call yourself, you _are_ Albus Dumbledore as far as the rest of the world is concerned. And I love you."

He paused for a second too long to think about her statement before smiling and squeezing her hand gently. "Then the name stays," he smiled softly. "I'll take love." The man looked up at the door in which the McGonagall's stood, staring down at the young couple. "Better get inside before they start making fun of us—or, more importantly, before we freeze to death."

Minerva nodded her head and led him up to the door. "You should have kept your cloak on," she sighed, making conversation more than anything.

"I prefer to complain," he admitted.

Though he couldn't see it, a smirk hung on her lips. "Tell me, why would you want that?"

She could hear him clear his throat in the background. "To get your attention, of course."

"That's hardly conducive to a working, adult relationship. Especially when you're the older one of the two of us."

Minerva walked through the door, followed by Albus. Emienne was the one to shut the door. The two young lovers exchanged smiles—it was all in fun. Their cheeks grew rosy, more from the heat and the cold than anything else.

"It feels wonderful in here," Albus breathed in the warm air, as if in a stupor. "I'm numb from the eyes down."

"We can whip up some hot cocoa in a pinch," Braxton smiled. "Does everyone want a cup?"

"Tea for me, Love," Emienne smiled warmly.

"Me too," Minerva added gently. "Hot chocolate should not be had prior to snowfall."

"I almost forgot about your ill-conceived opinions on hot chocolate," Albus sounded affronted. To him, there was no better drink.

"I come by it honestly," Minerva smiled, looking at her mother.

"Oh yes, quite honestly," Emienne nodded her head. "We McGonagalls have very strong opinions on things like warm beverages. I don't drink tea during the summer months—too much of a contradiction. Be grateful Minerva isn't as quirky as the rest of us. She decided early on that she'd be stubborn only when it suited her, whereas the rest of us make it a way of life," she shrugged cheerfully. "Now," Emienne looked between Albus and Minerva, "to the foyer or the dining room? I know you two have plenty you wish to discuss," the woman raised an eyebrow.

Minerva cleared her throat and glanced at Albus whose response was the raising of his two shoulders. Of course it was she that had to make the executive decision. "The foyer, I think. Let's not be too formal," she smiled gently.

And the three of them went in the direction of the foyer. Albus sat next to Minerva and Emienne took a single loveseat cushion while the open seat next to it waited for Braxton. It was not uncomfortable at all, sitting there in that room like they were. It was warm and somehow fitting.

Albus took Minerva's left hand with his right as a means of showing affection and slid the engagement ring back and forth upon her finger absent-mindedly. Minerva looked down at her hand, then at the man and finally at her mother whose face said quite clearly, "Somehow I knew it." Her cheeks grew rosy, this time out of both happiness and embarrassment. "I wanted to wait until Dad came before mentioning the news," Minerva shrugged.

"I suppose I can wait a wee bit longer," Emienne winked.

If Minerva received her patience from either of her parents, it would belong to her mother. There was no one as patient as Emienne McGonagall—after all, when one experiments as often as she does, it is necessary to take things slowly.

The man looked up between the two women. Obviously he had missed the moment. "Wait for what?"

The two women exchanged giggles with one another, Albus looking between the two of them with confusion written upon his face. "I obviously missed something important. Or have you women developed some new form of nonverbal communication?"

His fiancée shook her head, highly amused at the moment that seemed to have just completely gone over his head. "I think, Albus, that the world may never know," she smiled.

"Was it about me?" he looked from woman to woman. "I feel like a joke was just made at my expense."

"Oh it was," Emienne grinned, "but you brought it upon yourself."

"I don't like this," Albus shook his head, playfully defeated.

"Don't fret," Minerva pulled his right hand up to her lips and kissed it softly, "I'm sure you'll find this all quite engaging, once you realize what's happened," she raised an eyebrow. If he did not understand this not terribly subtle hint, she gave herself the right to make fun of him for ever and ever. By the look on his face, he was still in the proverbial dark.

"For Merlin's sake, Minerva," Emienne called out incredulously, "If this one can't pay attention long enough to a conversation, how is there hope for the rest of them? It must be genetic."

The younger woman's grin did not subside as she stared at the man who seemed to be putting the pieces together. "Albus," she whispered softly, "Mum saw the ring."

His eyes grew wide as understanding crossed his face. "Oh."

Minerva shook her head, a smile of adoration for his stupidity hung on her lips, "I want you to know that I will never forget this conversation," she teased in a whisper. "It is a story that I will share with my children some day. They will know that the greatest wizard of our time somehow missed the moment when his mother-in-law learned that her daughter was getting married. It will be a laugh for all," she grinned mischievously.

Albus cleared his throat, unconsciously puffing out his chest like royalty about to make a decree, "Well then—"

"Hot chocolate and tea for all!" Braxton came in through the door, preceded by mugs of various liquids which floated to their targets. "It was a tough war, but we came home victorious over the enemy that is boiling water!" he grinned triumphantly as he sat next to his wife. He was completely oblivious to the scene in front of him. Emienne and Minerva simultaneously raised their eyebrows.

"Go ahead Minerva," Albus nudged his fiancée, "tell your father so I don't miss the moment," he smiled playfully.

"Tell me what?" Braxton looked at the two of them.

"Go ahead," Emienne smiled, "you should tell your father."

Minerva cleared her throat softly, a blush growing on her cheeks, "Albus and I are engaged."

Braxton looked from Minerva to his wife and then back at Minerva again. He was silent, although a smirk was on his lips—for a second, Minerva was not sure what to think of his reaction. Then he looked at Albus square in the face and shrugged, "It took you this long?"

"Just this past weekend," Albus nodded his head.

"Merlin, I've been waiting for this news for three weeks now!" He stood up and shook hands with Albus, then pulled Minerva up for a tight hug. It lasted but a second, but in that second, Minerva heard his whisper, "Congratulations darling".

She felt the excitement rise up within her, bubbling like champagne. She was getting married! It had not quite hit her like this before—before, it almost felt like it was something that was going to happen, that _had to_ happen based on their history. By telling her parents, it suddenly felt…magical. It felt as though something was happening that happened by chance, by happy, enchanted chance. She was getting married to Albus Dumbledore.

Arms wrapped around Minerva and the voice of her mother was enough to set the tears of joy off from her eyes: "I'm so happy for you, Dear." Minerva pulled her mother closer, inhaling deeply. By the gentle shaking of her parent, the young McGonagall knew that her mother was crying as well.

They let go of one another and looked at each other in the face. Indeed, their eyes were both puffy, although smiles hung on their lips. "When did he do it?" Emienne asked softly.

"After the ball on Thursday at the castle. I had no idea he was going to do it," Minerva smiled. "I was completely blind-sided."

"As it should be. He had to surprise you—you wouldn't have accepted it otherwise. Or are you too in love to be stubborn these days?"

"Oh Mother," Minerva shook her head spiritedly.

"That much in love, eh?" Emienne grinned. "Good. I'm glad. It's about time you found someone, never mind the fact that he's absolutely everything you deserve."

"You two finished having your girl moment?" Braxton approached the women and put an arm around either female's shoulder.

Minerva looked to either side of her to see the two men in her life and across from her to see her mother. Infinite happiness. She nodded her head, "Yes, I think we can join the group." The woman reached out and took the hand of her lover, feeling his warmth spread up her forearm and onto her face. Albus placed a kiss on her forehead, for which she was grateful.

"I'm glad to see you so happy," Albus whispered gently into her ear. "I haven't seen you smile like that in days."

"What's that? Why not?" Emienne looked from either Minerva or Albus, concern written across her face. "Has something happened?"

The woman looked at her fiancé who nodded sadly. They had not planned on jumping into this right away. Oh well; better now than never.

Her parents thought the world of her and Albus, so there was no threat on that front. The problem was the fact that these sorts of things often got her parents fired up. They hated the press.

Albus motioned for the two of them to sit down, which they did. He was the one to break the news: "We find ourselves being uh, attacked as it were by the press of The Daily Prophet. I know you both were away this past weekend, so maybe you didn't read the article?" he looked between his two future in-laws who looked at each other and then shook their heads. Albus cleared his throat uncomfortably, "The article stated quite clearly that we are a couple now, which doesn't matter so much as the implications that it seems to put forth. For example, it insinuates that Minerva and I have been together in the past—while she was a student, to be more particular."

"Of course it's not true," Minerva added uncomfortably.

Albus nodded his head and took the woman's hand in his. "As you can see, there are some questions flying around about our reputations. I imagine that once we announce our engagement, things will only get worse. We'd have liked to have kept this whole thing hushed up, but since it wasn't, we have agreed," he looked at Minerva who nodded her head, "that we will proceed by keeping open communication with the press."

Silence filled the room. Emienne and Braxton exchanged glances. "This isn't surprising," Emienne sighed gently. "I'm sure you handle these sorts of things all the time," she appealed to Albus.

"Not very often any more. Five, six years ago, yes. Now, this sort of attention comes rarely. The school is a useful barrier, I think, in maintaining privacy."

"Oh, but they're vicious," Braxton added affronted. "They won't stop at anything if they think there's something going on, something that will get them money and fame, the leeches! All the time I find them, peeping in on players' windows for their next big story. Every once in a while when one of my girls goes out for a quiet evening with a beau, the poor bloke is hounded for a week. And Merlin, do you remember when Imelda Jacobs had that affair with Patrick Reynolds? They ruined her! For Merlin's sake, why can't they leave people to bring about their own destruction?"

Emienne cleared her throat gently while placing a hand on her husband's arm. He stopped and nodded, fully acknowledging the discomfort that he caused to radiate throughout the room. "Not, of course, that I think there is anything scandalous in the least about your relationship."

Minerva smiled sadly, "I know you don't. And you're right, Dad. We know that they can hurt us—that hasn't escaped our attention. That's why we've decided to cooperate," she added gently. "We're hoping to keep things under control."

"What about the wedding?" Emienne asked, suddenly keenly aware of the extent of infiltration her daughter's life was about to experience.

The girl shrugged, her head kept high, "We'll have to be careful about who comes and who doesn't. And there will be charms everywhere at the venue, of course."

"We'll choose someone to cover it," Albus said softly, "Someone who we trust. I also, at this point in time, can usually ask to read over things before they are printed. It's a well-known fact that I have some pull in every branch of the ministry."

"You're going to _invite_ reporters to the wedding?"

Minerva cleared her throat, "Yes, yes we are. But we shall see our opinion of the press by then, I think. That's still a long time off."

"Oh I don't like this," Braxton protested loudly. "Do you suppose for a minute that they'll treat you like people? No," he shook his head violently, "They'll hound you until they're practically your ruddy neighbors. Photographing your lives is going to be the same as borrowing a cup of sugar!"

"Dad," Minerva shook her head, unsure of how to respond. "We know," she bobbed her head up and down slowly, sadly. "We are fully aware of the delicate situation that is before us. We also know that it would be worse if we don't accept them—they will find ways into the castle, find ways to say things that are untrue. They will insinuate to the point that it hurts us and the school. We have a responsibility."

"Aye, to yourselves!"

"Braxton!" Emienne glared at her husband.

"They're just going to lay their heads on the chopping board of the press? I taught my daughter better than that," he growled back at his wife.

"Will everyone please be quiet!" Albus looked from Minerva to her parents, the audacity of power radiating from his being. His chest rose and stayed there as he breathed in deeply.

Minerva swallowed. This was terrible; just terrible.

Albus cleared his throat gently. "You did raise your daughter better than that," he nodded softly. "She did not want to cooperate with them—she's doing it at my request. That being said, what difference does it make what the rest of the world thinks of us? They can prove nothing for there is nothing wrong with our relationship." He was very matter-of-fact, lacking in any sort of extraordinary emotion—Albus was calm. Despite herself, Minerva found her growing attraction to the man; he did know how to demand attention.

"Minerva and I have a scheduled interview in the near future. We will be given the privilege of having the questions beforehand as well as the opportunity to read the transcripts prior to publishing. We are proceeding with caution. Nothing bad will come of this situation. Once they realize that we're not nearly as exciting as they think, they'll let us be."

Silence greeted him. Minerva waited for her parents to say something, reaching out her hand for his during the stillness. She took in a deep breath as her parents looked at one another, seemingly defeated.

Her father spoke first: "You'll take care of my daughter, I have that. I'll let you two alone," he nodded graciously.

"If things do get out of hand," Emienne smiled gently, "you can always come here. This is a press-free zone."

"Thank you, Mother," Minerva grinned, gratified that it would be finished then. "I know that you won't change your mind," she looked at her father, "but we do appreciate your support. I love you both," she added gently.

The two of them nodded. "We love you, too. Very much," Emienne sighed warmly. "Now, what about those warm beverages?"

* * *

><p>"Now why is it that I have never seen this room before, Miss McGonagall?"<p>

"Maybe I enjoy keeping you in suspense," she whispered.

Minerva's grin didn't need to be seen for him to know that it was there. He knew the game that she was playing with him. He knew that she was tempting him. Of course, he was also curious. It was a mystery—he had not, in fact, seen her childhood room before this moment.

The woman cleared her throat as she walked towards her shelves. She skimmed over the books, looking for one that was worthy of pretending to open. She felt his gaze on her as she walked slowly over. Her focus left as she read title after title along the shelf.

"Your parents have fixed the swing," the man said, surprise carrying across the room.

She turned around to see the man looking out the window to the backyard. His attention snapped back to her the second she faced him. "Did they?" she nodded. "Seems silly, doesn't it? It's been almost a year now. You must have given them a hard enough time about taking away your fun," she chuckled.

"Yes, blame me, Miss McGonagall."

Minerva blinked, a stupid sort of expression on her face. "Now why is it," she hopped up to sit on her desk, "that you keep referring to me as 'Miss McGonagall'? You didn't like it when I referred to you as Albus Dumbledore earlier."

"Ah, well you see," he walked towards her slowly, that familiar expression on his face, "I am aware, suddenly, of the fact that I do not use this name often enough and soon, it will be gone. You will bear my name. Therefore, I use it now."

"Albus my Love," she wrapped her legs around the man and pulled him closer to her, "you do realize that you called me that while I was a student?" She did not usually bring it up, refer to the past. For some reason, because of the memories associated with that room, she did not seem to mind. It almost felt right. Merlin knows she spent enough time thinking about him in that room.

His hands slid around her waist, playing with the dip at the base of her back. She inhaled deeply at the man's touch. "Not that I mind," she exhaled. "Do you have any idea how often I thought about my Professor Dumbledore in this room?"

"Maybe as often as I thought about you," he raised an eyebrow. The mean leaned forward, taking care to breathe on her neck before sucking on it gently. She felt the shivers spread down her body. Minerva exhaled, just a little bit of voice escaping with her air. Her fingers clenched his shoulders unwittingly.

She swallowed, trying to keep her head about her. "I'd take it that was often, was it?"

"Oh yes," he breathed. "I couldn't stop thinking about you for a long time. Merlin, you were beautiful."

Minerva felt herself blush. Every woman enjoys hearing that she's beautiful and somehow Albus Dumbledore knew that. "Well thank you," she exhaled, closing her eyes as she absorbed the heat between herself and the man. Yes. As a teenager, she had imagined this moment, this sort of encounter in her room.

"A-hem"—a voice from the doorway whispered uncomfortably.

The two of them exchanged looks before they turned to face the door. "Mum?" Minerva sighed, her voice carrying her embarrassment across the room.

"We're uh," Emienne swallowed, "we're off to bed. Just wanted to let you know. You two…enjoy yourselves"—she took her time with that list bit. She had never had this sort of problem with Minerva as a teenager—why, she had never brought any man home before this. No doubt Emienne McGonagall was embarrassed, confused and perhaps a little bit proud all at the same time.

"Goodnight," Minerva said gently, feeling the heat on her cheeks.

The door shut behind her mother as she left, leaving Albus and Minerva in the darkness. The moonlight was the only light in the room.

Albus sighed and stepped away from Minerva whose sexual inclinations just met the killing curse. He scratched his neck uncomfortably. "I think we just were caught."

She nodded her head gently, "I think you're right." She buried her head in her hands and inhaled deeply before exhaling. "Oh Merlin," she rolled her eyes, "I feel like a teenager who just got caught."

In spite of himself, the man smiled. "Oh the irony of it all," he grinned. "She took it rather well."

"Albus Dumbledore," Minerva pointed a finger at the man, "You do not have permission to laugh at this." Her voice suggested seriousness, but in reality, she felt like laughing herself. It _was_ ironic. "This is not funny."

"Oh but it is," he raised an eyebrow, blue eyes shining. "Of all the times that you and I could have been caught, it happens the one time I'm wooing you in your home while your parents are around. That reeks of hilarity."

An incredulous laugh escaped her lips. His phrasing, above all else, was worth the incredulity. "Reeks?"

He nodded his head, "Oh yes. Go on then, Minerva, smile. I know you want to—let go of that pouty face and laugh. Allow the embarrassment to envelope you."

She shook her head from side to side, though the smile did finally come across her lips. "Damn you," she grinned. "I'm so embarrassed. This is nothing compared to that article. Nothing."

Albus bobbed his head gently, knowingly. "You have unwittingly just proved my point about the press," he smiled, "but we'll set that aside. Maybe we find a way to get rid of this embarrassment. Tell me, my love, what is it that makes you feel at home, powerful. What is it that makes you look me in the eye and say 'do your worst'?"

Her eyebrows rose in surprise; that phrase again. She turned around slowly to her book case, then back towards the man. "Reading," she whispered.

"I see," he smiled softly. "Then read me something."

He was sweet, Albus Dumbledore. He did not want to be read to. He did, on the other hand, want to improve his chances of sex in the near future—Minerva could see through him in that way. She did not mind. Truth be told, she was anxious to have some time with the man. The past weekend had not been kind to them.

"Okay," she nodded her head and then turned to the book shelf. She read title after title before coming across The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Her hands pulled out the small leather book, then she turned to face the man. "How do you feel about 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"

His countenance seemed to change in that moment. Why, he was almost even fearful—and then it was gone. He shrugged, "Did you know that some people believe that the three brothers were real?"

She shook her head, "I didn't. But I'd imagine that all of these stories were influenced by real people or real occurrences."

Albus cleared his throat, "They were named Peverell, the brothers. I uh, went through a phase where I was enamored with this story. They were real."

Minerva blinked. "Well aren't you a wealth of information. Tell me," she grinned, "What else do you know about this story? I didn't know that a man like you could become obsessed with something non-academic," she teased.

"I see what you're doing," he poked her nose. "You're making fun of me."

"I would never do such a thing," she winked. "Tell me, Professor," she raised an eyebrow, "what else have you to tell me about these brothers?"

"Well now I'm not going to tell you," he kissed her on the forehead, "I don't give out valuable information to insolent students."

The woman gave out a laugh. Of all the things that she was, insolent was not one of them and both of them knew that. "Oh no," she gave an exaggerated pout, "I so wanted to hear what you had to say, Professor. Maybe some later time, after we've made love, you can tell me about the wealth of knowledge which you have acquired."

He grinned mischievously, "I don't think that's the sort of pillow talk you'd like to have."

"No," she shook her head, "but maybe we had better get back to the castle to see what sort of talk _is_ required for the evening to progress."

"That's a good idea," he nodded. "To the castle, we go."

* * *

><p>R&amp;R despite my tardiness?<p> 


	8. October 4th

**Chapter Eight: October 4****th**

Things had changed, Albus mused.

He did not know when it happened or why, but he noticed a significant change in the demeanor of the entire staff—even Cora and Rudy. Suddenly, they were communicating which was no small thing: they had not had what he thought of as a civil conversation in what seemed like years. Within a thirty-six hour span, they had gone from an arguing couple on the brink of separation into a warm, happy pair. Albus wondered for a brief second if they had been hexed, but wrote that idea off; somehow he got the feeling that someone simply came to their senses.

The man looked down to the entrance of the Dining Hall, where one Minerva McGonagall and Cora Elvsted were chatting animatedly on their approach to the staff table. A smile crept on his lips: Minerva made him proud. She had an uncanny way of making things right; no one could ever teach that.

His throat cleared gently as Minerva came walking behind him, heading in the direction of her seat. The woman stopped and waited with a smile for the man to speak to her, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Are you ready for tonight?" he asked suggestively.

The woman nodded her head gently, "Indeed I am, Headmaster. You still haven't mentioned what sort of event I should be dressed for. I never know with you," she grinned.

"Well," he leaned back in his seat smugly, "I'll say that we will be going dancing. How is that? Enough information for you, Professor?"

"I think so," she said slowly, casually raising an eyebrow. "You'll be taking me to London, then?"

Albus bobbed his head gently up and down. "Do you approve of my choice?"

"Oh yes," she breathed. "I always enjoy getting away from the castle. Will I be seeing you in my chambers after dinner?"

Despite his sensibilities, a grin came across his face. Merlin, he had a dirty mind. It didn't help that she was in extra fine spirits tonight—twenty-six years old and she had the world at her fingertips. "Indeed you will," he sighed, forcing his breath to stay even. Her excitement could not compare to his—he had one hell of a night planned.

"I look forward to it," she whispered, and then made her way to her seat along the table. He watched her go, mesmerized by her walk which made no attempt to get his attention—it simply did. He wiped his mouth of saliva before turning to his seat.

"London, eh?" Thurston chewed loudly on his carrots.

Albus took a sip of the water in his goblet before responding, "Indeed. She wanted out for her birthday, so London it is."

"Will it just be the evening?"

"Mhm," he nodded his head. "We have no inclinations to stay away from the school for very long. Just a night out." Of course Thurston's worries were related to the safety of the school—he was after all the Deputy. "Hopefully it isn't that one night out of the year where all hell breaks loose," he joked.

"Don't say things like that," Thurston swallowed. "Seems to me that the last time something like that was said was back when that girl was killed. What was it? Eight, nine years ago?"

It was unsettling, the way that Thurston talked about it; Albus did not care for it at all. It was not a small matter, young girls dying. "It wasn't so long ago that the matter can be talked about in that way—life was forever changed for many people. And the school."

"Quite right, quite right," Thurston backpedaled quickly. "I don't mean to dismiss it. I just would rather you not jinx something like that on my watch."

Albus shrugged, "It is the risk we all run, those of us in a position of power."

Thurston nodded his head and took another bite of his carrot, "Indeed," he munched.

The Headmaster sighed, feeling the weight of his perhaps overbearing statement. He did not mean to depress the mood, or to push down Thurston for that matter. There simply was a time and place to be serious and this had been one of those moments. Oh well. Better get on with the evening ahead.

Albus smiled softly at the thought of creeping in through the new passageway to Minerva's rooms and allowed that image to envelope him.

* * *

><p>"Where are we?" Minerva blinked.<p>

The man grinned triumphantly: he could see the look of excitement in her eyes. What was more is that she was completely turned around—she had no idea this place existed. Quietly, he congratulated himself. "Can't you read the sign," he teased, pointing at the block of wood which read _The Glass Place._

"I meant what city," she replied gently, knowing full-well that he was toying with her.

"Ah, yes, well," he raised an eyebrow, "London, don't you remember my saying at dinner?"

She turned her head to look at the man, lips red from the cold. "I've never seen this place before now."

Albus shrugged, "Perhaps you had better get out more. Shall we?" he asked, leaving an arm out for the woman. She rolled her eyes, smile never leaving her lips, and slid her arm through the pocket he had conveniently left for the woman. He felt good, having her on his arm; there could never be anything wrong with flaunting the beauty of such a girl. She was his.

He pressed forth, leading the lady through the door.

It was a quiet place—that is to say, the music was not too loud and the people were not too zany. A lounge-feel, that's what it was. Only this particular place was vast, having a very large dance floor with a stage, currently free of players and a ceiling that seemed to stretch up to the heavens; lucky for them, the night was clear and the stars were just bright enough to be seen through the glass. Albus glanced down at Minerva, whose face seemed to light up at the sight before her.

"What do you think?" he squeezed her arm gently.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

He wouldn't say the cliché thing, even if he was thinking about it: she was prettier than anything he had ever seen. But he would never tell her that, not in that moment. It meant nothing if he said it now; timing was its own magic. "I'm glad you like it," he whispered. "Where would you like to sit?"

"Near the dance floor, I think."

The man nodded. "What a fine idea, indeed. Perhaps that one," he pointed. When she gave the nod, he led her in the direction of the table. Carefully sliding her seat in behind her, she sat while he went around to the other side for his own seat. He looked across the table at the woman, whose smile had exceeded its current record of steadiness. That made a whole week of happiness. Who knew that it would come back so quickly?

"I take it you like the place?" he raised an eyebrow, begging for more praise.

The woman reached her hand across the table for his, which he gratefully gave. "I like it very much. I can see that you went to great lengths to get me here and I appreciate that."

He bobbed his head triumphantly, "I'd do anything for the woman I love."

She raised an eyebrow tauntingly, "Don't get smarmy. I can see through your tricks, I know what they mean."

It was fake, his incredulity, but he had no reason to accept her accusation—"I have no tricks, my dear, I only show affection as I see fit."

"Ah," she giggled gently, "And what do you suppose caused us to leave late? Was it just your _affection_?"

"It's your birthday," he shrugged, "I had to make sure that you had a good time."

"I see. So those 'let me get that for yous' and 'you need to be less tense' were simply your way of showing affection?"

He felt his face grow red. She wasn't stupid—but neither was he. Of course, in the game of cat and mouse, in this case, she certainly was the cat. "I care deeply for you, my dear. I don't want you to lift a finger more than you have to."

"Don't put on that silly act, _Professor_. I know the truth. Oh don't get me wrong—I like it, but don't think that you're actually fooling me. You're not," she pointed her delicate finger at him. "I knew what you were up to the second you came in through the passageway. You have a look in your eyes, dear."

The redness didn't leave—if anything, it grew darker. "I have a look?"

"Oh yes," she whispered, leaning over the table closer to him. "Your eyes light up a bit. They…spark, for lack of better word. Almost as if you've received a great idea."

Albus swallowed. She was cooing to him now, but he was ever-ready for a trap to be sprung. "Perhaps I do have great ideas in your presence," he smiled sheepishly. "I blame your namesake. It made you too beautiful and intelligent for your own good."

It was her turn to blush, now. Deep, deep red covered her cheeks. "My name has nothing to do with it."

"Nevertheless, you are beautiful," he insisted.

"Shut your face," she whispered, "I think it's time for a dance, don't you? If you're going to flatter me like that, I may as well be wooed on my feet."

"So you can kick them up again?" he winked.

Minerva shook her head. "There's no need to be crude, Love. You've already gotten into my knickers once tonight—I don't suppose that I need any extra pushing for it to reoccur."

The man bit his lip and raised an eyebrow. He was doing very well tonight. He stood up and lent out a hand to the woman. She paused for a second, looking past him, at a group of people drinking champagne. Albus turned to look at them and then faced Minerva again. "Something wrong?"

"One of those men over there keeps staring at our table."

He turned around again and took in the three men. They were, in fact, familiar to him, though he couldn't quite say why. Maybe they were parents of students. As he turned back to face the girl, an image came to his head. Fantastic. One of them had been at the ball, taking pictures.

Albus shrugged, "They probably recognize us. We are the latest news, you know."

"Please don't joke about it," she sighed. "Shall we dance?"

Albus nodded his head, "Why yes, we shall. Let us to the dance floor, Miss McGonagall." He pulled the woman up and led her onto the dance floor. The lighting was dimmer out there than it was at the table—probably because the only light came from floating tea-lights and the sky. He admitted openly that he couldn't have picked out a more romantic venue if he had tried. The only possible better option would have been his rooms—he could conjure quite a romantic atmosphere when he wanted to. As it stood, he had struck proverbial gold.

The man took in everything that he saw before him in the woman: her green eyes, rosy cheeks, red lips, soft smile—and that was only her face. There were so many other things to take in about the girl, the woman. He breathed in slowly as he took careful notice of her thin, pale arms and small waist, her tight bum, her sloping hip bones. Even the way that she carried herself in heels made her more attractive. God, she was lovely.

He slid a hand on her hips and took the other hand in his own. They began moving slowly with the music, waltzing in the usual box shape. He smiled. She blushed.

"Is this place new?" she asked gently.

"Very new," Albus nodded. "It opened on September 1st."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "The fun places always open on the first day of classes."

He shrugged. "It is the way."

The woman nodded her head gently. She knew the sacrifice she was making when she agreed to teach at Hogwarts. Well, perhaps not in the moment—in the moment, perhaps, all she knew was that it was an opportunity worth taking and that he was only a perk. He took a second to reflect on this thought. "You're happy at Hogwarts, aren't you?"

Her gentle grin was enough, but her utter certainty banished all thoughts of guilt from his head: "Infinitely," she whispered.

"Who would have thought," he whispered in a low register, "that everything is working out like we hoped it would," he paused and then added, "both professionally and personally."

That gave him another smile. "Indeed, who would have thought?" she raised an eyebrow. "I was hopeful, but hope only gets one so far. Besides that, it's a good brew for disappointment."

She did have a dark side to her, Minerva. Brilliant as she was, she seemed to always expect the worst, even if she didn't deserve it. He would like to call her a pessimist, but somehow that didn't seem right. No, no, she was a realist. And she took everything personally, holding on to it—whatever _it_ is—until, mayhap, she forgot about it. There were times when he wondered whether or not she had really forgiven him for what happened while she was at school. Oh, she would never bring it up with a negative connotation, but there were times when he saw a light in her eye of pain. He couldn't help but think that he caused it.

"Tonight is not the night to be negative, my dear. It's your birthday. Twenty-six years of life, all for you to celebrate," he smiled softly.

"You're making me feel old," she said sadly. "It goes by quick, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Faster than a blink, I think some days."

"That's just because you're old," she nodded her head wittingly.

"Watch your tongue," he spoke with playful authority, "I might just spin you a bit too hard one of these times for your cheekiness."

Whatever her response was, he did not hear it. He was much too distracted by the flash of yellow light that descended into his line of sight. A camera flash. His eyes turned quickly towards the table where the three gentlemen were sitting: they were laughing at one of their companions, the big one who looked the most intoxicated. Albus blinked. Maybe he was seeing things.

He looked around the room, but found no one with a camera in their hand, much less anyone particularly close to them for the act of taking a picture.

The look of confusion on his face must have been evident, for Minerva began looking around, too. "Is something wrong?" she asked gently.

Albus shook his head, "I think I'm seeing things. Forgive me, my dear. Perhaps," he allowed himself to transition out of suspicion into merry again, "I ought to invest in a bottle of wine for the two of us?" Not only would a drink be good, both for calming the nerves and enjoying themselves, but it would give him a further way of scouting the room. He'd be damned if the night did not go well, and even more so if it was because of people that insisted on interfering with his life.

Her face of confusion did not go away immediately, but it did go. She nodded her head softly, "I think that is a fantastic idea. I think I'll take a step into the powder room. Maybe by the time I get back, you'll have fetched me a drink," she sighed suggestively.

The man cleared his throat. "Hopefully I will have," he grinned.

And thus she set off in the direction of the ladies' room, fully aware that she was being watched very closely by her fiancé-he could tell by her walk, which was smoother than normal. Once she was out of sight, he took a glance around the room. There were couples there, mostly, though few of them danced on the floor. Most of them just sat at their tables and chatted. Yes, this was precisely what he bargained for. There were two or three tables with drinking comrades, but it really wasn't that sort of place. It was funny, Albus noted, to be seeing three men sitting together in such a place, especially when he knew one to be a photographer.

With a sigh, Albus walked in the direction of the alcohol, taking in all of his surroundings as he went. "Do you have a nice Merlot?"

The woman with graying hair smiled softly at him, "We do." She bent down under the bar and pulled out two different bottles, each with a different label and date. He surveyed them carefully before pointing at the one on his left.

"That will do," he nodded.

"Glass or bottle, Mr. Dumbledore?"

Albus cleared his throat gently. Some days, he hated his name. "Bottle," he claimed assertively.

"Enjoying your night out from Hogwarts?"

He breathed in slowly, irritated that this woman who he could not recall ever seeing clearly knew who he was and was judging him for it. He didn't like that. "I am. It's most pleasant so far." He glanced in the direction of the three gentlemen, then back at the woman behind the bar. "Do you know anything about those three men sitting at that table?"

She leaned over the bar and took a long stare at the men, then sat back up pensively. "No," she shook her head, "Don't remember ever seeing them here before—not that we've been open for long, you know. They didn't arrive much before you did."

Albus nodded. Perhaps he wasn't being paranoid.

"Well, here you go, dear. Three galleons, please."

He was surprised by that, but paid the woman before taking the bottle and two glasses to their table. He took his time in pouring the two glasses, growing excited at the warmth that they would bring to their night. Minerva was perhaps more affectionate than anyone may think at first glance, but when she had wine in her system, that affection grew twofold.

Remembering the girl, he looked in the direction of the powder room, where he saw his fiancée smiling casually while chatting with a man. Minerva was not the sort to philander about by any means—and he knew that—but it didn't stop the jealous hairs on his neck from rising. He did seem to be chatting her up, given the blush that crept on her face.

He raised an eyebrow as she looked in his direction.

The woman said goodbye to the man, whoever he was after recognizing that her lover was looking at her, and sat across from Albus.

"Who is that?"

"No one," she shrugged casually, "Just a man wanting to get my attention. Don't worry," she smiled, "he had terrible breath."

In spite of himself, he had to laugh at that one. She did have a way of closing an argument or a situation that was uncanny. No, he never would suppose that Minerva would be the type to flirt with a man on purpose unless she had interest—and she was terribly interested in him, Albus Dumbledore. "I see. And I don't?" he smiled.

"Not usually," her eyes sparkled. "Especially when your lips taste like wine," she raised an eyebrow. "Have you been drinking without me, I wonder?"

"Of course not," he teased, "You'd retaliate. Eat my candy before I had a chance to enjoy it. You're vindictive like that."

She giggled softly, "Am I? I'm vindictive, you think? My dear Professor, if I was a vindictive sort of woman, I would have made a point to end your career as a professor long ago. As it stands, I think the only thing you can blame me for is being a worthy opponent."

"In the game of life?" He grabbed the stem of his glass and she grabbed hers.

"Yes," she nodded. "What shall we toast to?"

"Your birthday, of course."

They clinked their glasses and took short sips. He took in the gentle arch of her lips almost as much as he took in the red liquid. Her lips turned red along with her sip. And her cheeks. "You know how mad you're driving me, don't you?" he whispered so that only she could hear.

Her cheeks grew even redder and her eyes may have even grown shinier. "I don't mean to," she said in such a voice that they both knew she was lying. "I am simply sitting here, my dear."

What a lie. She was doing so much more than that. Minerva was happy, which made him infinitely happy. The man smiled sheepishly, an idea occurring to him. "Care to open your birthday gift?"

"If that is what you wish," she shrugged, "I can certainly do that."

He reached into the inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a very small box. He placed it in front of her. She did not seem surprised to see such a small box—maybe she expected jewelry. Without so much as a word, she lifted the lid off of it and pulled up the locket within it. She looked at the man, lips parted ever so slightly and understanding written on her face. "I feel like this has happened before," she smiled, almost as if she was saddened by the thought. "You did keep it," she whispered.

Albus bobbed his head gently. "I told you I had. It was intended for you, you know. You ought to keep it."

She moved her head in the affirmative: "Help me put it on, will you? It's lovely. Thank you."

He quickly picked himself up from his seat to put the thing around her neck. "You're welcome," he sighed tenderly as he touched the back of her neck. He inhaled her sweet perfume.

And then she went rigid, like a hissing cat.

Albus only had to look up to know why. All of the heat from the wine left his system; he exhaled only cold. Of all the things that could have happened tonight, that was the icing on the cake—and not the good kind, either. Carrying herself wantonly on the dance floor was a woman, dressed in pink. Albus willed himself not to take action—moreover, he willed Minerva not to get scratch out the eyes of the woman. "Do you want to go?" he whispered.

Minerva shook her head ever so slowly, inhaling deeply. "Absolutely not. Excuse me," she whispered and stood up, walking in the direction of the table.

He grew fearful, watching his hot-tempered lover approach her sworn enemy. "Minerva!" he hissed.

She ignored him.

Albus watched, panicked, as Minerva went over to speak with Gwenella Paige. From the outside, it looked quite cordial, but he knew it wasn't. There was a smile on her face, but it wasn't sincere. Oh, there was a fire in her eyes: given the chance, he knew that the woman had the impulse to do some real harm to her old classmate.

Minerva leaned in close to her opposite, whispering something or other—Albus watched from a distance, his heart going thump-thump-thump. His inclination was to go over there and stop hell from breaking loose, but he stopped himself, if only for the fact that he reminded himself that Minerva was a competent, intelligent being.

Gwenella's reaction to whatever it was that Minerva said spoke volumes: fear. She sat, proverbially stunned, as Albus' fiancée left the table, descending coolly to her lover. A victorious grin hung on her face. No words came out of her mouth once she was sitting across from the Headmaster. Minerva took a slow sip of her wine, her lips curling in victory.

He waited patiently for a statement, but none came. "Well?" he sighed, exasperated.

"I told her that if she interferes with my affairs ever again, I'll transfigure her into a large rat and then set her in the owlery."

She looked innocent, but really, Minerva McGonagall was a force to be reckoned with.

Albus cleared his throat, being both proud and horrified. He wasn't sure how serious Minerva really was, but that was something she was perfectly capable of—and perhaps something she would fantasize about doing. Nonetheless, he was glad to see that she returned without so much as breaking out her wand. He took a sip of wine and allowed it to swish in his mouth before swallowing it.

"At which point she agreed to never interfere again?" he raised an eyebrow.

Minerva giggled gently, "I don't think that she will be a problem."

His suspicion grew with her cheerfulness—it could have been wine kicking in, but somehow he doubted it. "What makes you so sure?"

She cleared her throat softly, "I just am," the woman said seriously. "She's threatened by me and always has been. Why else would she make up that story about us?"

Albus blinked. "She made it up?"

"She doesn't know anything, Albus," Minerva insisted. "That woman is jealous and always has been. She fancied you in school. Did you know that? She was always jealous of how close I was to you. She just misconstrued our relationship." She paused, eyeing his fearful expression. "We were careful. We made sure of it."

He nodded his head gently. Yes, he knew that much. They had been extremely careful—Merlin, she even became an animagus to make things easier for them. He computed this new bit of information into his mind. No, she couldn't have actually known. It was nothing but jealousy. "Yes. Yes, we did."

Minerva took another sip of her glass of wine, still no doubt feeling as if she had conquered the world.

Albus smiled gently at the woman. And then it happened again. The flash. He looked up and around the area. Only this time, he saw the culprit. The man Minerva had been chatting with earlier—he had migrated over to the trio of what Albus took to be reporters. Damn.

Apparently his fiancée had also seen the flash this time, for she looked around suspiciously. "Was that a camera?" she asked, worried.

The man nodded. "What did you tell that man that you were speaking with earlier?"

Her eyes grew wide as she recounted it in her mind, and then she shook her head. "Nothing. Just that I was here on a date for my birthday."

Albus swallowed, worried all of a sudden. He looked down at her left hand and exhaled sadly. "You're wearing your ring."

Understanding passed through face as she turned to face the man in question. When she turned back towards Albus, pure ire raged through her face. "This can't be happening."

He cleared his throat. Indeed it was. But he would not allow it to continue happening. He sat up from his chair and walked casually over to the table with the four gentlemen, all of whom were much more sober than they pretended to be. Silent anger coursed through his veins.

They looked up at him, grins on their faces. They thought that they had won. How cute.

"I do not recall asking to have my photograph taken," he said calmly.

The photographer was the one to respond. Albus took an immediate dislike for his deep, oily voice. "I can't say that I know what you're talking about."

Albus swallowed. "_Accio _camera_,_" he whispered. Lo and behold, it flew into his hand straight from the jacket of the photographer. It had been shrunk by charm, but certainly that's what he held in his left hand. "I do suggest that you take a different stance," he whispered threateningly.

"Hey, that's mine," the man sat up from his chair angrily.

Calmly Albus smiled at the men. They were forgetting who he was and what he was capable of doing. No one could beat him in a duel if it were to come to that—he was the best and would remain the best until the day he died. "I strongly suggest that you sit back down and give me what I want. I have made a deal with Maximillian Woodfork that there will be no interference from the press until we have had an interview. By taking pictures, you are violating that agreement and are therefore liable to be taken to court. Now, do you really want to avoid giving me the pictures you've taken?"

The four men exchanged glances.

The burliest of them (and perhaps the drunkest) stood up from his seat, folding his arms pompously. "Maximillian Woodfork? That arrogant ass from the Daily Prophet?"

Albus nodded his head, "Yes. That one."

"We aren't from the Daily Prophet," he hissed smugly. "We're freelance photographers. Do you know what that means? We don't give a flying hippogriff about the deal you've made with Woodfork."

The man cleared his throat, anger beginning to show on his face. Maybe another tactic before he resorted to magic. Maybe. "I'll buy them. How much?"

"Thirty galleons each," the burly one responded.

Now they were just toying with him. Had it been reasonable, he may have done it. There was no need to get greedy about it. "That's a steep price for a couple of photos," he raised an eyebrow. "I'm a humble man. They can't be paying you that much for something like that."

Old Burly smiled, yellow teeth showing. "There's a price on your head, Dumbledore. Or don't you know that?"

Albus felt what was akin to ribbon run against his ankle: he looked down and caught a glimpse of a tabby cat. Brilliant girl. He looked back up at him, not so afraid that he'd have to resort to violence. At this point, all he needed was time. "Whatever for? I haven't done anything wrong," he said innocently.

"Not so far as anyone can prove," the man raised an eyebrow. Albus shifted uncomfortably, more out of the implication than his deep desire to blow up the idiot member of the press. "I can see what you're thinking—don't try anything fancy," Burly persisted, "There's one of you and four of us. Why, even your girlfriend has gone. You've got no way to get them back unless you're willing to pay."

Smarmy, greedy bastards. "You underestimate my abilities," he spoke slowly. "If it comes down to it, I will not only defeat the four of you, but I will use some spells on you that I guarantee you have never learned. Or do you make it a habit to study spells on a regular basis?" he raised an eyebrow.

The two men still sitting exchanged glances, while the two standing men had their own nonverbal communication going. In one set, Albus saw fear; in the other, a certain cockiness that could not be foiled, save for a fight. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about half of his potential opponents. He would never instigate a bar duel, but if they got it in their heads, he would not turn down the opportunity to run their pride into the ground.

The burly one and the other who flirted with Minerva whispered back and forth before finally nodding. "Ten galleons each," Old Burly said.

Over at the bar, just right of where the table was, Minerva transformed to her human form and indicated that she was leaving with her head. She began her exit. Albus began the final line of the last act that was The Glass Place. "That's still far too much," he persisted.

"Take it or leave it," Burly hissed.

Albus blinked and thought about it. The poor fools. "I'll leave it, then," he whispered. He dropped the camera that he was holding on the table and then turned around.

He walked casually out of the room, through the front door and caught sight of Minerva who held out her hand. He barely had time to register the cold stinging air or the warmth by contrast of her hand. He simply grabbed it and then apparated the two of them outside the grounds without another thought.

It was instantaneous, their landing on the grass, crunchy from the night air. He held her hand tightly as they looked at one another, aware of what just happened for them. In hindsight, it would have been appropriate to ask the question about ten seconds ago, but Albus figured it was an appropriate question to ask nonetheless: "You got them?"

"I did," she whispered with an air of confidence. "One of the idiots was holding them when I went under the table."

A feeling of utter joy came upon him. Crisis averted and it was all thanks to Minerva, who used her curious ability to get them out of danger. He smiled, gratified, as she handed him two different photos. "You clever, brilliant girl," he laughed.

"They're not bad photographs," the woman smiled, equally as satisfied as Albus. "They might even be worth keeping."

He looked down at them. Indeed. She was beautiful in both of them. And he could see the glow in their eyes—especially the one on the dance floor. It was a pity the papers wouldn't be getting their hands on it; they really did look in love. "I think so," he smiled. "Maybe we'll start a scrapbook," he lifted his hand and saw the letters in front of him as he said them, "It shall be entitled 'the first time we escaped the press'," he chuckled.

Minerva nodded her head softly, gently shaking from laughter. Then the laughter grew to the point that he had to laugh, too. Or rather, he was laughing at her. And then she was laughing at him. They laughed together for five, maybe even ten minutes. It did not stop until they both were sore.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please. Happy finals to those of you in school!<p> 


	9. Gwenella Paige

**Chapter Nine: Gwenella Paige**

**Both: **

_How long have you been dating?_

_Does your relationship affect how you function as educators? Are there conflicts?_

_How did your relationship evolve from being academic to romantic?_

_Will you be getting married__?_

_Do you consider yourselves "a perfect pair" as the article in the Daily Prophet suggests?_

**Miss McGonagall:**

_What do you love most about Albus Dumbledore?_

_Do you find that his reputation as a great wizard is daunting? _

_Have you had to make many concessions to work at Hogwarts? Do you enjoy teaching?_

_Do you find yourself inadequate in any way next to the Headmaster__?_

_To what extent have you committed yourself to the person of Albus Dumbledore__?_

_Can you please describe your relationship to the Headmaster?_

_What was your response when Albus Dumbledore sought you in a romantic sense?_

_Do you still carry on your own research while at Hogwarts?_

_What is the most important thing that you learned from Mr. Dumbledore?_

_Would you consider yourself a romantic__?_

_Give one word to describe Albus Dumbledore._

_How does Mr. Dumbledore fit into your family? Do your parents approve?_

_Do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a man so much older than you?_

_Would you describe yourself as "in love"?_

_Do you feel that you earned the position of transfiguration professor?_

_(To clear the record) Did you have an affair with Albus Dumbledore while still a student__?_

_What is your relationship with Gwenella Paige?_

_How long have you loved Albus Dumbledore? What was the moment that you knew?_

**Mr. Dumbledore:**

_What do you love most about Miss McGonagall?_

_Do you find her youth and positive reputation are factors in your attraction?_

_To what lengths did you go to in order to obtain Miss McGonagall as a staff member?_

_How did you pursue her as a lover?_

_Do you find Minerva McGonagall a challenge to you in any way?_

_Do you believe that your relationship is what is best for Hogwarts__?_

_Do you believe that Professor McGonagall will do well as your successor?_

_Can you please describe your relationship with Minerva McGonagall?_

_How do you find being in a relationship affects your research?_

_Give one word to describe Minerva McGonagall._

_Do you find Professor McGonagall's family enjoyable__?_

_Do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a girl so much younger than you?_

_Would you describe yourself as in love?_

_Do you feel that Minerva McGonagall is the best candidate to teach transfiguration?_

_Were you ever attracted to Miss McGonagall while a student__?_

_What is your opinion of Gwenella Paige?_

_Do you have any current plans for a mini-break with Miss McGonagall__?_

_How long have you loved Minerva McGonagall? When did you know?_

Minerva read over each question carefully, tapping her quill uncomfortably as she went farther down the list. It was all too personal, really. There were things that she certainly didn't want the public to know, but then there were things that she would rather them not know, for instance the deep love she felt for her lover. It was none of their business.

She exhaled deeply and fully, growing ever so slightly more angry at the audacity that the idiot reporter had to write "Do you find yourself inadequate in any way next to the headmaster?". Or, for Albus, "Were you ever attracted to Miss McGonagall while a student?". It was enough to make her sick, the way that they were being perceived. She was meant to look like she lived in the man's shadow and Albus was meant to look like a pervert. Well, they wouldn't be answering those sorts of questions.

Furthermore, the questions about marriage were to be struck from the list. No one needed to know just yet. There would be a time and a place for the news to be let out, but not now, not this second. In a month or two they would announce it, after they had some plans made. Why, they had not so much as decided on a month, let alone a date. The summer, certainly, but either one of the two months they had off would do. There was no need to mention what was not solidified.

Blinking gently through tired eyes, Minerva placed the paper down on the nightstand where the quill and ink sat. "Albus?" she called to the room.

"Yes?" he leaned over the banister, red hair dangling limply.

"Do you really think we ought to keep these questions about Gwen? You know he's only trying to stir up some controversy," she shook her head disapprovingly.

He walked down the mini-flight of stairs and stared at her with that professorial look upon his face, as if to say 'it's for your own good', but then he softened and sat at the edge of his bed. "You do realize that this is our opportunity to tell the world what a liar she is? We can discredit anything she ever says again."

Minerva cleared her throat and thought about it. She did deserve it, Gwenella. She deserved to never be believed again, to be labeled as a liar and a gossip. Still, Minerva did not feel the desire to destroy Gwen's life completely—oh, she felt no qualms in threatening, but it was not in Minerva to kill a person so completely. Take away Gwen's friends and she had nothing. Minerva blinked. Maybe an eye for an eye was a plausible stance on the issue: that woman would do anything for survival, why shouldn't Minerva do her the favor of forcing her to lead a decent life?

She looked into the eyes of her lover, suddenly remembering the look on his face when she came up while they were out on her birthday. His look of surprise hadn't fooled her—it was filled with forced expression. "Albus, you _did_ know that she was jealous of us when I was a student`, didn't you?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I did. I uh…well, I've been meaning to bring this up."

Surprise filled her face. That was never a good beginning to a conversation. What's more is that she wasn't fishing for any sort of deep, scary conversation—she just wanted confirmation. Her heart sped up without so much as a blink. "The subject of Gwen?"

"Yes," he nodded slowly. "You know that you are the only student I slept with, ever. But…I should perhaps let you know that Gwen did try to get my attention on multiple occasions."

She felt a lump of surprise hit her throat. Why tears instead of anger? She could not really explain—perhaps it had to do with the betrayal that she found herself feeling. Or maybe it was just the manner in which he was declaring this sort of information; this did not seem like a topic meant for nonchalance. "How? What happened these _multiple _times?"

"It was in her body language, mostly. She did send me an owl or two, asking for private lessons—"

"_Private lessons_?" Minerva hissed maliciously, her disposition changing at the turn of a coin.

Albus nodded and went on matter-of-factly, "Yes, asking to improve upon her work, that sort of thing. Of course I knew what that meant," he added, "having given some private lessons to you around that time."

Now there was anger; buckets full of it. She sat up completely from the pillow that she was laying on, feeling heat come to her face. She wasn't sure if she was angrier about the word usage or the statement he was making. _Private lessons_? That was demeaning all on its own. No, there would be a time and place for that one. Gwen wanted Albus. "Around the same time?" her seething voice crept through the room.

"Don't get angry," he put up his hands as if to calm her. It didn't help.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she spoke, allowing her voice to go higher with every bit of his long-winded name, "Around the same time? You mean to say that she was seducing you while you were seducing me?"

"Now Minerva—"

"No!" she shook her head violently, "Why in the name of Merlin would you not have told me this before now? Why is it that you would not have told me that the woman that has made great strides to ruin our lives," she rolled off the side of the bed in all her wrathful beauty, "wanted to make the _beast with two backs_ with you then—why, I'd bet that she still wants to. What was all that in the garden?" she shrieked, walking around the side of the bed to be in front of the man who was still sitting. "She asked me about you before she could have known anything at all! Maybe she did know!"

"She couldn't have—"

"Then how were we found out? _Who_ would have known? Who _could_ have known?" she flung her arms into the air exasperatedly.

Minerva panted anxiously as she waited for a response from the man who seemed neither surprised nor anxious to be cut off again. That was Albus, always waiting for the moment where he could have the floor.

He cleared his throat and spoke gently back to her, "Have you finished with your tirade?"

Of all the ways that he could have responded, condescension was not one she appreciated or tolerated. "_Tirade_?"

"Yes. That's what one calls an irrational outburst like the one you've just had."

She allowed the words to hit her full on before turning around and going up the flight of stairs. She could hear him calling from behind her. None of it was particularly coaxing, mostly just things like "Minerva, come back" and "stop being childish". She would not be spoken to like that and she certainly would not allow him to forget that he deceived her trust by waiting so long to mention the situation. That really was the problem—she did not consider Gwen a threat, although her loathing for the woman just increased tenfold.

Minerva walked through the portrait of Macdonough the Mage of Kent and into the passageway that connected their two rooms. When she came out on the other side, only about ten seconds had passed. She turned to face her own portrait of Imelda the Sorceress and pointed her wand at it. With just a simple thought, the portrait seemed to freeze over and the palette became gray. There. Albus wouldn't be able to get in on her side. May he rot for want of attention from her.

The woman stared at the portrait for just a second longer to see if he had followed her. Nothing. This only ignited her anger further, like the stub of a match ready to be dropped upon a pile of kerosene. Betrayal and disappointment all in one night. How lucky she was.

She turned around quickly and walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, believing that it would be better for her to be overwhelmed with heat, rather than setting fire upon the whole of her rooms. Minerva closed the door behind her, locking it in the event that Albus should decide to force his way into the room. He may think that she wanted to be pursued, but really, she just wanted him to know that she had never been angrier with him.

Minerva placed her hand under the water, checking for its temperature. Hot, but not quite hot enough. She let her hand hover there as it grew to warmer, before finally deciding that she would strip. All of the layers came off slowly, mostly due to the fact that her mind was elsewhere.

He had no right to keep that sort of information a secret. It was important for her to know that Gwenella Paige had wanted to be with Albus. It was knowledge that would have allowed her to assess the situation better. If she had known that Gwenella Paige had it out for her since they went to school, everything would have begun differently.

She took a second to stare at her naked body in the full-length mirror. Minerva did think of herself as pretty most of the time. Looking at herself now, she didn't see such a thing. She noted the way that her nose buttoned at the end and hated it, she hated her chapped lips, but she especially hated the scar on her right foot from frost-bite. It wasn't that it was unsightly, not really, but the fact that she couldn't change it bothered her. Magic would cover it up, but she couldn't reverse the damage that had been done.

She lifted her head and stared at her own eyes in the mirror. They were dead now, brought down by self-loathing.

Minerva shook her head and stepped into the hot water, allowing her body to slink into it. Her head fell back on the edge of the tub and rested there as the water covered first her hips, then waist, and finally breasts. She allowed herself to sink even lower, slipping her entire head beneath the water. In the liquid, she listened to her own heartbeat and the grating of her body against the bottom of the porcelain tub. It was almost even therapeutic.

After nearly a minute of avoiding air, she couldn't ignore it anymore. She broke through the smooth top of the water gracefully, though she breathed in the air hungrily. Yes, that was just what she needed. Minerva blinked as the water slid from her forehead onto her eyelashes. She made no attempt to wipe the water away—she allowed it to invade her eyes if it wanted.

She inhaled deeply, finding some semblance of peace.

Minerva loved Albus with all of her heart, but she did hate how he didn't share all of the details that he ought with her. It wasn't that he purposefully kept them from her, he just didn't always see how it was important for her to know things. Really, it was him protecting her—that's how he saw it—but the intention didn't matter so much anymore.

One year. One whole year and there was never a moment where he felt it was important to tell her that he had been approached by one of her fellow students. Not the day that they saw her in the garden. Not the day that they found their names and pictures smeared all over the front page of the Daily Prophet. Not the day that Minerva openly threatened the woman in public, no. He chose now. After it was nearly all behind them, he mentioned it.

Childish? She wasn't childish. He was the one playing games. How much could the Prophet know? How much could she know?

She sunk back down into the water, this time allowing a scream to erupt from her lips. She watched as the bubbles flooded up and felt the scratching of her throat with satisfaction. Damn it all.

Minerva broke the surface again silently.

She was overreacting. But he really did anger her. Everything had to be on his watch, in his time. Even their date on her birthday had to wait until after he successfully wooed her—he couldn't do what everyone else does and wait until after the date for sex. It was part of his charm, his need to be in control, but it was also one of those things that drove her insane. He had no right to withhold that sort of information from her. Their relationship while she was in school was the crux on which their current relationship was built—now he was telling her that her perception of everything was wrong.

Reverberations echoed through the room: someone was at the door to her chambers. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Albus could wait outside all night.

She heard the door open just outside the bathroom.

"Minerva?" he said gently, his soft voice drifting through the wood of the door. "Minerva, why did you lock me out?"

She did not respond.

He knocked on the door to the bathroom. Then he knocked again. "Minerva, I know you're in there. Talk to me."

Minerva dearly wanted to respond with some cheeky quip, but decided against it. He was not so titillating that she had to speak to him through a door. He would have to come in.

He hit the door harder this time, clearly growing angry at her lack of response. She rolled her eyes.

"Minerva, I will blast this door open if you don't come out and speak to me."

The woman exhaled and leaned over the tub to grab her wand apathetically. She wouldn't put it past him to break the door via magic and in any case, her goal was not to see things broken. With a wave, the door clicked open. She sank back into the water and refused to look at the man as he came into the room. Had she made eye contact, she was certain that he would be looking just a wee bit mad (in both senses of the word). He sat down on the floor next to the tub, waiting for her attention.

"Come now, Min. Look at me."

She didn't. "I don't want to," she admitted sadly.

He sighed deeply and shifted himself to lean against the tub. "You're not making this very easy for me."

"Should I?" she whispered softly.

There was a pause. "You can't expect me to grovel, Minerva"—he used her name in a tone that reminded her quite distinctly of the students that she taught. It was meant to hurt her, but it didn't so much. It made her resolve stronger.

She didn't respond. The woman listened as his frustration grew, audible by way of breathing. His exhalations became longer. She could see his body shaking out of the corner of her eye. Angry indeed, but he was in the wrong.

"Damn it, will you look at me?"

Minerva cleared her throat. "I won't."

"What in the bloody hell do you want from me? I don't understand, you're blowing this way out of proportion. It's not as if she ever succeeded."

She felt the shadow of anger crawl across her face. Plan A: ignore him, terminated. Plan B: lash him by way of tongue, begun. "Do you really think that's what this is about?" she turned to face the man, fire raging in her eyes. "Were you even listening before? I don't care that she wanted you for herself—that is a moot issue because, frankly, I know that she is not a threat to me and never has been. What baffles me, _Albus_, is the fact that you think it's appropriate to tell me about this now!"

"When was I supposed to mention it? What was I meant to say, 'Oh, by the way, Minerva, that woman you hate so much wants to have sex with me'?" he shook his head violently. "No, it doesn't work that way!"

"_Accio towel_," she yelled, and stood up, the towel covering her body. All of her attention was on the man, however. "You needed to tell me. Whatever the case, you _needed_ to tell me long before now. Has it not occurred to you that if I had known, if you had told me in the _year_ that we've been together that there were other _students of interest_, that none of this ever would have happened? We'd still be carrying on together quietly instead of being played like puppets by the press!"

"Oh, come off it! They were going to find out. You are you and I am me. Someone would have seen us together and it would have been everywhere."

"Do you not see the damage that you have done by making Gwen suspicious of us? Either now _or_ then? Do you not realize that she was the one who must have told Professor Dippet?"

"Stop right there!" he flung his arms out angrily. "_You_ were the one to let slip the fact that we were together. We swore to each other that we wouldn't tell anyone, and what do you do? You tell that _thing_ that we've been dating for a year. My God, Minerva, if you're going to talk violating trust, then you're a disappointment, too."

No stunning charm could have struck her harder than that last phrase. There was a pause as Minerva processed what he had called her. "Get out," she whispered. When he didn't move and she realized that tears had crept into her eyes, she began screaming, "Get out, Albus Dumbledore! Leave!"

He thought about not leaving—she could see it in his eyes—but he left nonetheless. By the time he finally decided to turn around, he was brusque in his walk, ready to flee her rooms. He slammed the entrance door behind him, making the sound echo through the room.

Minerva inhaled and exhaled quickly at the hopes of stifling the unconscious tears. Her hands wildly wiped away the water that was corroding her vision and painted the tears on her towel. Blinking madly, she walked into her own rooms, bent on continuing the night as she would have without this fight.

The woman thumbed through drawers in search of something to wear to bed. All that was left were nightgowns that Albus had given her—he liked buying her things. Minerva sighed sadly. She hated the man sometimes: he had too much power and wealth not to flaunt it.

No, there was no hope of continuing the evening as she had planned. Everything in the room would remind her of Albus and that wasn't fair. The chambers still teemed with a passionate, albeit angry atmosphere. It would not be good for her to stay, not at all. If there was any hope of her being happier with the man by morning, it would not happen unless she spent some time away from the place where they cohabitated most nights. Besides that, Minerva really did not want to be alone.

The woman looked back down at the nightgowns. In the end, she went with the only cotton one she possessed and threw a robe over it without a further thought.

She couldn't stay.

* * *

><p>Of all the things he could have said! Of all the things he could have done! He had to go off and make it worse. He had to fight her, push her down so that he wouldn't lose. What an idiot move. But there she was, acting like a pouty child who couldn't get her way: she provoked him to become angry, to fight like that! He couldn't just take it.<p>

Albus ground his teeth harshly in his mouth.

There was nothing he could do about it now. He had to wait for her to find a reason to talk to him. Merlin knows that if he went back to her chambers, all hell would break loose again.

He walked back to his rooms, trudging through the entrance. He took a look around the room before quickly realizing that he didn't want to be there. Albus turned hastily and shut the door behind him.

The man wandered aimlessly as one does when one wants to avoid home.

Albus utterly failed at keeping himself calm earlier—that was his first mistake. His second mistake, obviously, was his lack of understanding of the female mind, which was not something he could control. And of course, his fatal mistake was saying untrue things about her. Minerva could never actually be a disappointment. What stupidity on his part.

Merlin, he was an idiot for saying that. He had no reason to blame her for telling what she perceived to be a friend the truth of their relationship. It was, he had to admit, partially his fault to not have warned her. Minerva was not the first person to be backstabbed like that—he knew that he could have prevented it. Her point had been valid.

But his point was that there never was a good time to say such a thing and that was the truth.

He shook his head as it drooped down. It wasn't as though she would ever concede to his side of the story, which was remarkably weaker than hers. And he couldn't very well go into an interview the following day while upset. Things like that carry over, even in transcribed interviews. He could see it already: "Miss McGonagall, do you consider yourselves a "perfect pair?" "I do not. We're in a constant argument about Gwenella Paige, who I'm sure you know. The little tart tried to sleep with him when she was a student and he didn't tell me. I'll tell you, Maximillian, if that doesn't make me want to stay with him forever, I don't know what will."

Albus stopped to hit his head gently against the castle wall. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Don't be upset," a voice came from the left of his ear. "She'll come around."

The man lifted his head off of the wall and looked into the frame that was nailed into the wall next to his head. "You're the portrait in Minerva's room."

The woman nodded her head. "I also hang in Gryffindor tower, near the landing."

Albus had thought that she looked familiar when he installed the passageway, but did not have time to ask then. He saw portraits daily; certainly a few of them had to look familiar. In the present moment, however, it suddenly registered. "We've met before," he blinked.

"Aye. Funny how these things work out, isn't it?"

Funny indeed. Funny to the point of disbelief. "You followed me," he posited.

Imelda the Sorceress shrugged. "I had to make sure you weren't about to go and do something stupid like she did all those years ago."

The man nodded his head gently. "And what about Minerva?"

"She's gone to the infirmary."

"Ah," he sighed. She must have gone to see Sunny. There were worse people that she could have taken a liking to. In any case, Sunny would probably be up taking care of a fourth year who was hurt during his most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "So you then decide to follow me?"

"All we've got for entertainment are the inhabitants of the school," she responded with offense, "You try and find something entertaining on the grounds after hours. Besides, I think you both owe me some gratitude for paying attention to your relationship!" she hissed angrily. "Without me, she'd have frozen to death that night and you'd have no Minerva McGonagall to fight with!"

Albus swallowed, knowing that this was the truth. Without her, no one would have known that Minerva sat dying in a tree that night in December. Without her, he'd have been responsible for the death of his lover. The man nodded his head, "That was a very kind thing for you to do," he replied sincerely.

"That it was!" she perked up significantly, like a proud child. "I showed my Gryffindor spirit, did I not?"

The man bobbed his head gently, "You did indeed."

"Now I daresay it's time for you to show yours and talk with the girl. You're wrong, Dumbledore and if I were you, I'd just admit it and move on."

That was a bit audacious, but he could take a bit of criticism from such an exemplary portrait. He didn't like being told that he was wrong, but clearly, he must be. "The infirmary?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," he nodded his head and turned around, walking in the direction of the hospital wing.

* * *

><p>Minerva sat on a free bed in the hospital wing, waiting patiently for Sunny to finish with the students.<p>

One of them had some painful looking burns along her arm and face—lucky for her she was knocked out from a potion. The only reason Minerva knew it was a "she" was from the card next to the bed, which read "You're beautiful no matter what to me." What a sweet sentiment. It takes a profound sort of desire to write that sort of thing on parchment.

Minerva sighed with the memory of her teenage love, never quite quelled. Her professor still had her heart.

"What ails you, Professor?" Sunny walked up next to her, wiping her hands on a towel. One would have thought that she'd look tired after a day of work, but clearly, she was reveling in the opportunity to make the students better. It was her calling. "You look upset. Something happen?" she persisted when Minerva did not answer straight away.

"Oh, I'm just dreading the interview," she sighed. "We had a spat tonight about it," she shrugged. Sunny didn't and couldn't know everything, which made it hard to seek comfort in a fellow human being. How to talk about Gwenella Paige without talking about their illicit affair? It could be done, but it wouldn't be. Minerva was locked in that same old lie.

Sunny sat down on the bed and looked the woman in the eye. "What about, specifically? I know you, my dear. You don't come for help unless it's important. You've got as much pride as our Headmaster."

That was certainly true. "And just as much temper," she added softly.

"I could see that," Sunny smiled toothlessly. "Would you like to go to my office to discuss it? I think I can step away for ten minutes or so."

Minerva nodded her head. She felt it improper to be discussing her relationship out in the open, where students could hear. That was the last thing she needed, for students to set abuzz the fact that Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore weren't getting along. That would be a recipe for disaster on all fronts.

They walked together down to the end of the infirmary and took a right, where Sunny's office was. Minerva was surprised to find that it actually felt sunny—the yellow walls made her smile ever so slightly. And the seats weren't bad, either; it was almost pleasant. Sunny sat in a seat and motioned for Minerva to sit across from her. "So?"

The younger woman exhaled gently. "I'm not entirely sure where to begin," she looked around the room helplessly, "except maybe with the fact that our relationship is being challenged. And Albus just…" she shook her head, "he doesn't tell me things that he ought to tell me, sometimes."

"Such as?" Sunny prompted.

Minerva swallowed. "The woman who was quoted in the Daily Prophet for suggesting that we…carried on together while I was a student is Gwenella Paige, who was my year and a Gryffindor. As it turns out, she was the one who wanted to _carry on_ with Albus and openly told him."

"That girl is bad news," Sunny nodded her head, "Always has been."

"Yes," she sighed. "The reason that I am upset is because Albus only just now told me. I would have thought that that is a detail worth sharing."

Sunny bobbed her head up and down in agreement. "What a brainless thing to wait on saying!"

"And all he is able to articulate," Minerva raised an eyebrow, "is the fact that it's a difficult thing to bring up. But he had to do it. He left me in the dark and I'm completely blind no thanks to him. This whole situation might not have even existed if he would have told me!" she grew impassioned. "That is not something you keep from the woman you love! Not when it involves the both of us. How could he think that it would never come up? Of course they're going to suspect us of having an affair while I was a student—it's scandalous and all the press is looking for is scandal! _Of course_ it's going to come up!" she called out much louder than she would have wanted, had she had control over herself.

The older woman motioned to Minerva to bring her voice down and then responded, "I do believe that you're right, Minerva, but perhaps he saw it as a detail that was unimportant. I'm sure it was nothing to him. He's Albus Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake. I'm sure there have been several students who have tried to get his attention, at least in his early years here."

Minerva shook her head. Had she had any less trustworthiness in her, she would have told Sunny right then and there. She wanted so desperately to say '_I was one of those students. And I succeeded,'_ but she couldn't. Instead, she was forced to deal with the present, with the implications that were there without the integral scandal. "It became important the second that article came out," she said fiercely.

Sunny nodded sadly, "That I think is true."

"It is," she exhaled, letting the anger go.

The older woman cleared her throat and motioned in the direction the door. Minerva turned, aware of whom it must be, standing there. True to her sense of cosmic timing, there was Albus Dumbledore with a guilty expression on his face. "I wonder if I could have a word with you, out in the corridor, Professor McGonagall?"

She took in a deep breath before nodding her head. It would do no good to deny him. Besides, his general demeanor was promising her repentance. She turned to face Sunny as she got up from her seat, whispering "Thank you" to the woman. She winked back and nodded her head.

With that, Minerva and Albus exited Sunny's office and made their way to the corridor just outside the infirmary. The woman watched him as he walked—he did certainly seem to have an air of humility about him, which was nice to see. It was not her place to bring him down, but she liked to know that he could get off of his seat of power for the sake of being human. Furthermore, humility was in no way weakness, not to Minerva. It showed real courage to accept loss.

They stopped and he took her hands gently. Had he done it any other way, she may have been tempted to pull away from him, but he had grown…well, tender, almost. Above all, she liked that side of Albus Dumbledore. So she allowed him to wrap his hands around hers. "I'm sorry," he nodded his head in earnest. "I shouldn't have kept that from you. It was wrong of me."

She blinked as a sympathetic smile crept on her face. "Albus," she spoke gently, "all I ask is that you don't keep things like that from me. Things of importance. I want to believe that you think I'm worthy and I just…" she looked around the room for a word that would hurt herself less to say, but none came, "can't if you hide things like that from me."

"I know," he smiled sadly, "I promise, I won't again. I did not mean to do that to you. I never would mean to hurt you," he paused. His eyes were not as dry as they had been when he first came to fetch her. "I was cowardly. I thought you'd maybe decide that I had been lying. That you weren't the only one. Or that it just would never come up, never be important. The blame is all on me."

What else could she say to that? He was being humbled and taking it graciously. More than that, he clearly wanted to do better—he didn't cry for just anyone. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

His finger played with her hand, exploring the soft skin. He looked down at her hands, then back up into her eyes. Hers were dry, but she knew that they were still red from crying earlier. Alas, that sort of thing did not go away quickly. The man added, as a new thought came to him, "And you could never be disappointing to me, Minerva. I feel wretched for saying that. I think that you're absolutely brilliant and I love you."

She smiled warmly, "I love you, even when you're being selfish. I can't really help it at this point."

Albus grinned, "I will take that jab, my dear, only because I know you're telling the truth. Besides," he chuckled, "that's nice to hear."

Minerva nodded her head gently. It was nice to say. "Let's not talk about it anymore. I don't want to fight. Is it finished?"

The man nodded and smiled gently, "Yes. Maybe we should go back and make a strategy for this interview, like we had planned?"

She had almost forgotten. That was how the evening had started, wasn't it? She took in a deep breath before exhaling, "I think that's a brilliant idea."

* * *

><p>R&amp;R. Happy Holidays to all!<p> 


	10. An Interview

**Chapter Ten: An Interview**

It had already been a trying day. Only eleven and they had to go through the hassle of leaving the castle on time which was its own problem. He had been waiting on an owl all morning that he needed to reply to—it was just his luck that it arrived at such a point that they left twenty minutes late.

Now they were sitting in some sort of waiting room on the first floor of the Daily Prophet's main building, waiting for Maximillian Woodfork to show them in. It wasn't particularly kind of him to keep them waiting. What a git.

Albus sighed and shifted in his seat.

The Daily Prophet _was_ important. It published many different important articles that informed the whole of the wizarding community about its goings-on. He was not so ignorant that he couldn't see that—that, really, was the only thing that kept him from causing disaster. If he had less of a brain, he'd make the whole of the building rain, but as it stood, he could never justify it. Besides that, he knew that there would be hell to pay: every journalist in the wizarding world would libel his name until he was publicly ruined.

He looked next to him at the fidgeting Minerva. She did not look her best today, he had to admit. It wasn't from lack of trying—Merlin knows she could be the prettiest thing in London when she attempted it. But today, it was evident that she had not slept well, which just threw everything off. Her eyes had already been red from crying last night, they only got worse when she slept far less than she should have. Her lips were chapped, her cheeks were blotchy and she seemed have a sudden fascination with ripping apart yesterday's Daily Prophet, piece by piece. All in all, he could tell that she simply wasn't ready for this.

The man put a hand on hers. Her head flipped up, surprised. She tried to smile, but failed.

He knew that she was uncomfortable with going, but he could not have ever guessed that she'd be acting this way. If he had known…well, he would have tried to change things. Albus looked at the woman, feeling at fault for having asked her to come with him. "It will be over before you know it," he whispered.

"I know," she sighed back. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," she admitted sadly. "These sorts of things don't normally get me this anxious." She looked over as the doors opened to the outside, then back into his eyes.

Albus slid his fingers through hers in an attempt to reassure her. He knew. Oh, did he know. "Personal interviews are daunting," he swallowed. "They'll chew you up spit you out, just to be ogled by the rest of them. But I'm here with you." For a split second, he recalled a conversation that they had had not too long ago where she asked him to be her lover more than a protector. Well, it was his natural response to act as both. In any case, she needed him to some degree, whether or not she cared to admit it. "We'll do this and maybe then they'll let us be." He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly.

She smiled cheerlessly. "You know they won't."

He nodded his head gently. She was being realistic. "There will come a time, Min, when we're old news and we can go back to where we were. All of this will go away—" he noticed with hope the way in which her face softened at that thought, "and we can continue planning a life together, free of them. Who knows," he leaned in so that only she could possibly hear, "maybe we'll even be able to have a wedding without interference from these leeches."

The tension left her face with that last word.

She was looking forward to the wedding, or at least the idea of the wedding. He had spotted a picture book or two with ideas in her rooms: gowns, flowers, decorations, that sort of thing. The woman had yet to really discuss her plans, but he could wait. The ceremony bit would really be for her—he just wanted Minerva. So long as he could hold onto the woman, he could wait until the end of eternity.

Albus swallowed as a flash of insecurity hit him. She had made a point last night to say that he did not share important information with her. He couldn't continue living like that, keeping secrets. There were things, several things in fact, that he needed to share—least of which was the fact that he had committed heresy by telling Rudy about their affair. That needed to be taken care of quickly; possibly even after the end of their interview. She would forgive him if he told her—she may not be so kind if she were to find out from Rudy, or even Cora (who he supposed Rudy would share the secret with). She expected little out him besides love, but honesty was nearly on the same plane.

He took in a warm breath, staring into the woman's bloodshot eyes. He hated to see her cry. He hated it even more when she cried because of him.

"I love you," he whispered gently, hoping that everything he felt could possibly be conveyed by those words.

"I love you," her voice carried softly into his ears, just before that awful voice of Maximillian Woodfork cut it off: "It's been so long," the slim, angular mosquito of a man grinned, his lips curling menacingly. "How are you, Dumbledore?"

The tone in both of them shifted significantly, he noted, as they stood up to greet the conniving villain. He could feel the proverbial shield charms rise up between them. The man was glad to find his lover respond so well to the danger standing far too close to their pair: she had always been particularly adept at defending herself when she needed to, despite her quiet demeanor.

"Doing well enough," he raised an eyebrow. "Minerva," he looked down at the woman, "this is Maximillian Woodfork."

She reached out her hand as though it was nothing and took the mosquito's hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

"The same to you, Miss McGonagall. You're even prettier in person than you are in your pictures," he breathed, looking the woman up and down slowly. Albus felt a rush of hatred towards the man, who knew well what he was doing. He thought he had won, but he hadn't. "Shall we get this interview started, then?" he licked his pale lips.

Minerva cleared her throat, "I think that would be best, don't you, Albus?"

A grin shifted on his face: he did so enjoy the curtness in her voice. "I think so. We need to get back to the school as soon as possible and I imagine that this will take some time."

"Very well," Maximillian nodded his head. "To my office, then." He began walking towards the door through which he entered, expected Albus and Minerva to follow him. The headmaster slid his fingers through the professor's and they proceeded as a unit. This was as close to war as they were going to get, he imagined, and it was necessary that they stick together.

After that initial door, they had but one more to go through. On the front, etched in a golden plaque was written _Maximillian Woodfork, Columnist of the Year_. Albus scoffed. Pride was one thing, but there was no need to flaunt one's achievements in such an arrogant fashion. He could have at least placed the plaque inside his office.

He held the door open for Minerva and then went inside himself. Albus scanned the room for anything that violated their agreement, including cameras. There was nothing to be found, except for a quill, writing on its own atop the sizable desk. Maximillian sat behind it and motioned for Minerva and Albus to sit on the door's side of it.

The columnist folded his hands together and looked at the couple once they sat. "Now, we agreed that this would be a transcribed interview with questions that would be predetermined and edited by the three of us. Do you have your copy?"

Albus nodded and handed the parchment to Woodfork. It had been checked several times before it became its final version. "Your copy, Woodfork," he said with false politeness.

He read over the paper carefully at least twice before looking up at the couple. His eyebrow rose, "You claimed," his voice practically crawled across Albus's skin, "that you had nothing to hide. Funny, isn't it, that you should not want to discuss your relationship while Miss McGonagall was at Hogwarts?"

Albus looked at Minerva, then at the quill which was scratching away. He would not be duped, not by this man. "You are in violation of our agreement, Woodfork, by asking us questions that are not on that list. Or do you deny that it is writing down every word that we are speaking?"

Woodfork cleared his throat and then raised a finger, "Ah-uh. I do reserve the right to edit this interview."

"Then kindly refrain from asking us things which are not on that list," Albus hissed.

"Very well," the mosquito shifted his back to fit the contour of his chair. He reached out and grabbed the paper, licking his lips. Woodfork was feigning control, but Albus could see that he had lost it. He did not want to play by their rules, but he damn well would. "We'll start at the top then, shall we? How long have you two been…dating?" he raised a judgmental eyebrow.

"Thirteen months," Albus bobbed his head, taking the woman's hand in his own. He looked beside himself at a blushing Minerva. Perhaps that was what made him say more than he normally would have. "I wooed her on the evening of the Ministry's 311th Annual Ball and we have been happily together ever since."

"And Miss McGonagall," the light in Woodfork's eyes lit up, "What was your response when Albus Dumbledore sought you in a romantic sense at this ball?"

Minerva glanced at Albus, her eyes lighting up for a completely different reason. "I was flattered," she smiled softly. "I of course always had great esteem for the man, him having helped me to accomplish many of the things that I've accomplished, but I never would have dreamed that he had an interest in me that went beyond my mind. Yes, I was very flattered to be approached by Albus Dumbledore," she blinked.

"Would you describe yourself as 'in love'?" his voice slithered, unfeeling through the room.

"I think I would," she whispered, her tone responsive to the reporter's. "I don't feel like that's an easy thing for a girl to admit to the rest of the world, but I am." It was a challenge for Minerva. Do your worst, I'm up to the challenge—that's what her eyes seemed to say.

"And you, Mr. Dumbledore. Would you describe yourself as 'in love'?"

Albus nodded his head before speaking full-voice, "Of course. I have been in love with Miss McGonagall for much longer than I'd care to admit. Quite possibly since the ball." Yes, it was a battlefront and they were on the attack. There was nothing for which they had reason to feel culpable.

Woodfork caught on to this. His questions grew threatening in tone. "Miss McGonagall, how long have you 'loved'"—he sneered with the word—"this man? What was the moment that you knew?"

She faltered here, pausing over which truth she would share. Merlin knows, she had loved him since she was a carefree sixteen year-old. "As a friend," she spoke slowly, aware that she was being recorded and completely judged by the man, "I have loved him since I was a student. He has always been a great source of wisdom for me. As a lover, I think it would be a lie to say that it was after the ball," she nodded, certain of her choice. "I was in love by the end of the night."

Albus smiled, feeling love wash over him. She had not told the story of how he wooed her, but that didn't stop the memory from crawling through his mind. Minerva thought it romantic, magical, almost. After a dance or two and a kiss in the moonlight, both of them were swept away in each other.

"And this is for both of you," Woodfork seemed to interrupt the moment just by using his oily voice, "Do you consider yourselves "a perfect pair" as the article in the Daily Prophet suggests?"

Minerva nodded, wordlessly suggesting that Albus should begin. He blinked, then looked at the pale, bony face of the columnist. He was reminded that this was a battlefield and that getting carried away was the worst thing that they could possibly do for their reputations. "I think," he paused, "that in many ways, we are quite perfect for one another. We have similar interests and are capable of producing extraordinary work, but, I think, there are times when we are so similar that it creates the opposite effect. That is not to say that we won't work upon it, but we do have our disagreements just like any other couple."

There was a pause in the room. Minerva picked up the conversation: "I think that what Albus says is right. On paper, we do look like we are perfect for one another. But we are just people—people are not puzzle pieces meant to be fit together. I think that it is presumptuous of the world to think that. We work hard to keep a relationship worth having; it isn't an easy thing," she nodded gently.

"I see," Woodfork leaned over to make sure that the quill had kept up with Minerva's words, then leaned back into the chair. "Tell me, Miss McGonagall, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a man so much older than you?" His words were infused with a challenge. He knew already what to expect for an answer. Ah, but Minerva would not give it to him.

"I don't see age when I look at Albus," the woman spoke matter-of-factly. "There are times when I must come to terms with the fact that he has experienced so much more than I have, at which point I cherish the fact that he can continue to be a mentor to me as well as a companion. His age means nothing to me."

And that was true, he knew. It was one of those few things that they never discussed because it simply did not matter. She saw, he supposed, only her lover.

Woodfork cleared his throat, "And Mr. Dumbledore, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a woman so much younger than you?"

Albus blinked with a smile. "Difficult? I revel in it," he looked at the woman with a grin. This was no news to her. Minerva winked slyly. "She's brilliant, mature and beautiful—I have no reason at all to take offense to the fact that she's young."

"Do you find her youth and positive reputation are factors in your attraction?"

He shrugged. "Of course." And that was that. There was no more to be said on that note. Everything about the woman said good things about her. Had they said bad things, well, perhaps things would not have worked out the way that they did. But certainly anything positive that went with the woman was worth noting and treasuring.

"Miss McGonagall, do you find his reputation as a great wizard daunting?" Woodfork rolled his eyes.

"Daunting? No," she shook her head. "I think it drives me to be better." Her eyes danced at the thought. She liked to improve herself. "If I feel the need to compete with a man, I'd rather it be Albus Dumbledore than anyone else. He challenges me."

"I see. Tell me, Dumbledore, do you find Miss McGonagall challenging in any way?"

He laughed at that. If only Woodfork knew. "In every way," he nodded his head. Minerva McGonagall had challenged him from the moment he first met her. If he asked, she probably could recall their first encounter, but it didn't matter so much now. He smiled softly to himself. "She goes a mile a minute and does it well the first time, every time, whatever it is."

"On that note," Woodfork raised an eyebrow, "To what lengths did you go to obtain Miss McGonagall as a staff member?"

"Interesting question," he sighed. Time for topics to change, obviously. Albus grew ever so slightly more serious, more professional. "I actually approached her on the night of the 311th Ministry Ball for the purpose of asking her to join the staff. This was the first time I suggested the idea to her, and the first time that we had exchanged words since she left Hogwarts. You see, I had been following her work until that point and thought that she would do well to take my position as transfiguration professor." Oh yes, he had certainly read every little thing she published from the time she graduated. Minerva _was_ brilliant. "It was not a difficult decision for her, I don't think," he looked at the woman, making sure that she agreed with him. When she nodded, he proceeded, "she agreed to teach on the spot."

"So you believe that she will do well as your successor?"

"Oh yes," Albus nodded with confidence. "She's always been gifted in transfiguration." He looked beside himself at the woman who did not care for flattery in the way that most women did. Oh, but she was reveling in it now. Or perhaps that was just esteem in her eyes. "What's more is that she has a very particular way of communicating her ideas, which makes her an excellent professor. I hired her because I thought she'd do well, and she is."

Woodfork looked between Minerva and Albus, sensing the moment that they had just had. A look of disgust filled his face. "Miss McGonagall, have you had to make any concessions to work at Hogwarts? Do you enjoy teaching?"

"Of course I enjoy teaching. I've always been…inspired, if you will, to teach." She stared at Albus with a challenging grin. That was for him. He took full credit for her interest. "I enjoy it very much. And I suppose everyone has to make concessions to some degree to be at Hogwarts. I've had to reorganize my life around the school—and Albus, for that matter—but I find it thoroughly rewarding."

"Do you still carry on your research while at Hogwarts?"

"I could if I wanted to. I've decided that I'd rather become acclimated to the school and a new lifestyle first," she smiled softly.

Woodfork looked at Albus, ready to pounce on the cord that he thought he had just hit. Both of the professors had high reputations of academic prowess. It was odd that Minerva, who was noted for her work should not be working. It would be even more of a red flag, should Albus not be working either. "And you, Headmaster? How does being in a relationship affect your research?"

"Not at all," Albus lied. "I'm just as productive now as I have ever been, when I have the interest. I'm not working on anything at the moment, but that is by choice, not because I am halted by Minerva." It was only a half lie, really. He of course had interests. He was always interested. As of late, he admitted, he perhaps was more enamored with the female anatomy than dragon's blood or transfiguration, but who was to say that that was wrong?

"I see. Does your relationship affect how you two function as educators? Are there conflicts?" he looked from one to the other, anticipation growing. He thought he knew what he was doing: stirring up some sort of disagreement.

"Two people are not always going to agree about everything," Minerva blinked coolly, "and we certainly function as different people in the classroom. There are things that we are inclined to teach in different ways, mostly because we are so different. Why, look at the animagus unit for N.E.W.T students. Being an animagus myself, my approach is quite different from Albus's; more hands-on."

"Indeed," Albus nodded his head. He recalled with a certain fondness her lessons to become an animagus; he admitted that things would have been very different, had he known how to do it himself. "And our somewhat intricate relationship as mentor/mentee, headmaster/professor and boyfriend/girlfriend naturally complicates how we interact with one another"—that was invariably true—"I don't know if there is always a moment when we agree on anything on any of those levels in relation to education, but we try to aid one another and grow as teachers."

Maximillian nodded, that look of triumph dwindling from his face, only to be replaced with utter loathing for the 'L' word. "What do you love most about each other?"

Albus knew this one. He had known it from the second he began forming a relationship with the girl. It was, perhaps, what made her special. He had met many brilliant, attractive people, but none had been given the gift that the woman beside him had. "Minerva is the most compassionate person I have ever met," he whispered, love nestled in his eyes and cheeks. "I believe that without her," he paused, begging her to remember his words, "I would be lost. She accepts my faults without question and loves me all the more for it."

Minerva squeezed his hand tightly. "I love many things about Albus," she whispered, looking at the man with passion written on her face, "but the thing that I love most—if you won't think me too shallow—is his eyes. I can see the world in them," she nodded, not taking her eyes off of her lover, "all of the love and strength…and hate and brilliance I could ever find, I see in his eyes. Even now," she paused, "he looks like he loves me."

"I do," he nodded, knowing that no words would ever be truer. Perhaps she knew that by the way he looked at her. He had no doubt that she believed him. He could have anyone if he really wanted—anyone at all. But he wanted her. He desperately wanted her because he knew that she was the one. End of story.

The two of them turned to look at Woodfork who looked down the list. He lifted his head and looked between them. "What is your relationship with Gwenella Paige?" he asked, unenthused by the lack of finality that the final question prompted.

Albus was the one to answer, knowing that he was at fault for all that had befallen them with that horrible woman. "We have no relationship with her. Everything she has claimed is a falsehood and her word should mean nothing to the general public. All she knows are things that she believes to know—not the truth."

"Thank you," Woodfork's grin dissipated completely. "It's been a pleasure to have this interview with you both," he spoke with disgust.

"Thank you," Albus nodded.

The three of them watched as the quill continued to write and then finally stop. Woodfork removed the sheet of parchment from under the quill and placed it on his desk. "There. You don't have to worry about me now. Congratulations," he smiled wryly. "Maybe you'll allow me to cover the joyous event, whenever it goes public?"

Albus blinked. He knew already, but he found it better to play dumb than risk letting out their newest secret of engagement. "What are you referring to?"

"I think you know perfectly well," he hissed. "We'll be watching you whenever you step away from that school of yours, you can count on that." He had an angry expression upon his face, as if this was not the last battle to their war. Perhaps it wasn't.

Minerva cleared her throat. "You've gotten what you wanted. Let us be," she hissed as if she were the vilest form of cat ever seen.

"We're ready," Albus pointed a threatening finger at the man, prepared for his challenge. When a sufficient response of glaring occurred, Albus turned towards his lover. "Shall we go, Min?"

The woman nodded her head. "Yes, let's."

With that, he stood up, as did the woman and he opened the door for her. She opened the second door for him. They walked out the entrance doors to The Daily Prophet Headquarters triumphantly, hand-in-hand.

* * *

><p>Minerva's heart beat a mile-a-minute, exhilaration flooding through her veins. God, if life with Albus could be like that every day, she'd swear her undying love to him at the Ministry right then and there. She practically jumped up and down the second that the two of them crossed the street and found an uninhabited path.<p>

"Albus!" she laughed, wrapping her arms around the man's neck tightly. He lifted her up by the waist and swung her once in a circle, holding her closely. When he placed her on the ground, their lips met for their kiss of triumph.

She grinned up at the man, refusing to unlink her hands around his neck—he didn't mind, surely, for his fingertips rested at the very base of her back, squeezing ever so gently. "That was just…brilliant," she exhaled, eyes full of love.

His beautiful blue eyes twinkled back at her. "You were just as wonderful," he smiled. "I admit that I was worried before we went in, but you could never disappoint me. Something snapped in you—"

"The second I saw that bugger of a man I was seized with this desire just to…" she looked around for the word.

"Make him feel like the leech that he is?"

"Exactly," Minerva nodded, knowing that he felt the exact same way. "Merlin, I don't think I've ever disliked anyone so much as that man in a matter of five seconds."

Albus laughed. "Maximillian Woodfork does have that effect on people. Meeting him helps to explain why he would have written the article in the first place—let alone the fact that he listened to Gwen."

"If I wasn't so busy avoiding him, why Albus, I'd go out of my way to make his life unpleasant."

"I think you succeeded," he kissed her again. "He was none too happy when you told him to bugger off."

"Now Professor," she teased, "that sort of language really doesn't become you."

"Neither does sex talk, but I still use it in your presence," he whispered in her ear, squeezing the top of her leg for a beat.

"Mmm," she exhaled, suddenly aware of the amount of celebratory hormones that were pumping through her system. "We can apparate to my flat in London if you don't want to use it in public," she whispered, running her hand along the side of his face where his beard was least grown. She closed her eyes, embracing the feeling that was millions of stiff hairs brushing against her fingers. Like a cat? Yes. Fortunately for the man, she wasn't nearly as loud as one.

She bit her lip tauntingly as she waited for a response.

Albus nodded his head slowly. "Take me there, my dear."

He did not need to tell her twice. In less than a blink, they found their surroundings to have changed.

Minerva hardly took a glance around her flat before finding herself pressed against the nearest wall with Albus breathing warmly in her ear. The shivers of excitement ran down her spine with a vengeance and landed somewhere between her thighs, where Albus conveniently pushed with his own pelvis. She allowed the man to sink in closer to her person, shifting her legs to the side, just enough for him to lift her feet off of the ground.

Her arms wrapped around him, nails dragging with want along his shoulders while his warm lips sucked the flesh of her neck, then her shoulder and finally her collarbone. They both saw the problem: damned clothing. His head lifted up to hers, closing the gap between their hungry mouths. Merlin, that man could kiss—and he always could, for that matter. Minerva sank deeper into a sexual lull as his dexterous tongue explored her mouth, his knowledgeable lips sucked on her own, and his hands which seemed to have a mind of their own undid the buttons on her front.

By the time she opened her eyes from the kiss, she saw her naked arms and stomach, her thighs and breasts.

He lifted her head up to look at his eyes, beautiful, wonderful and excited in all their glory. Her hand shifted to cover his cheekbones and chin. She took in everything about him. She loved that nose, crooked as it was. And that beard. And that smile—Merlin, she loved that smile. Hell, she even loved those ears.

A grin came across her face. There were days where she wished that she hadn't fallen so hard for the man, but this was not one of them. Today, she so wonderfully and emotionally invested in Albus Dumbledore that she knew she would do anything for the man. Anything at all.

For a sweeping moment, as she used her own fingers to remove the man's clothes, button by button, she reminded herself of the moment that she had tried so hard to forget for so long. They had known that it was wrong, then, when he made love to her for the first time—for _her_ first time. But it had been worth it. It had been worth all of the pain, all of the rule-breaking, all of the sneaking about because they were together. Separated, they were brilliant and jaw-dropping, but together…well, together they were great.

As she fell upon the floor, she embraced the feel of the cold wood and the heat of her lover's skin against her own. It was like warm water, washing over her, taunting those parts which most needed to be touched. His mouth crashed like waves against hers, then pulled hers up as tides tend to do.

She felt her spine elongate, naturally responding to the man's touch as it slid from her waist to between her legs. Her hand pressed against the wall behind her, that very one in which she had recently been pushed upon. Minerva closed her eyes, inhaling his touch, feeling it through every point of contact.

If the world could only know what they were like behind closed doors, Minerva mused to herself as a final thought, they'd know that they were just like any other couple.

* * *

><p>The woman opened her eyes, lazily looking around her flat. It looked empty, uninhabited as it was meant to during the term. There were no dishes to be washed, no floors to be cleaned, no food to be made. There was hardly anything to eat, either, she reminded herself. Except tea, perhaps—not that it counted as food.<p>

She rolled over on the hardwood floor, out of the warm hands of her lover who whimpered like a child without a source of heat. "Shh," she whispered with a smile. "I'm just making some tea."

"You don't have to do that," he mumbled, barely opening his relaxed mouth. "Come back. We don't get to do this very often." His glassy eyes opened, refocusing the world. "_Accio_ Minerva," he whispered to no avail—his wand was somewhere in the pile to the left of them.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "I won't be long," she leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead, then the lips. Albus nodded his head.

"I hope you freeze," he muttered playfully as she walked robe-free to the kitchen.

She looked behind her as she walked towards the kettle. She knew what sort of response she'd get, but that didn't stop her from tackling the subject at hand: "I'm glad you can make light of that," she smiled simply. "It only took you nine years."

Minerva caught just a glance of the man as he sat up, suddenly awake at the change in tone. Well, different tone for him—it was the same for her. He panicked. That look of worry came on his face, for he thought he had said something wrong. Really, it was nothing to her now.

She poured the water into its receptacle, listening for his voice.

"I was not aware that it was something to be made light of," he said gently. They never talked about it, the accident. Minerva was not entirely sure why—she had always thought that it made him uncomfortable.

"It was nine years ago." She turned off the faucet to look at the man who, for the second time in a twelve hour span, looked guilty. "Albus," she shook her head quickly from side to side, astounded that he should be taking the subject so closely to heart still, "it's in the past. It happened. I can't change it and neither can you. All we can do is make sense of it." She nodded her head, having finished her thought and placed the kettle on the stove. When she looked back at the man, he was standing upright, a look of great esteem on his face.

"Yes?" she whispered, acutely aware of the fact that they both were defenseless, naked in every sense of the word.

He tread lightly with his words, "I was just wondering how it is that you should be the way that you are."

Minerva swallowed. A compliment, surely, but the way that it was said, well, it made the heart in her chest twinge with emotional pain. What's more is that she didn't understand where this came from. Normally she could comprehend his train-wreck of a brain, but there was no precedent for such a change in topic. The woman peered at the man before responding, "I don't understand."

Albus shrugged earnestly, "What allows you to forgive so easily, Min?"

She blinked. Things clearly just became infinitely more serious.

It was not a rare thing for Albus to speak to her like that—she knew that there were things about her personality that drew him to her. His response earlier, for example, where he claimed that her compassion was what he loved the most, came as no surprise. In a very indirect way, she had always known that he was jealous of the way that emotions flowed through her. But somehow this did not seem like the time for such discussion.

"Well," she looked into his eyes as she approached him, placing her hands upon his shoulders. "I have always been aware of my own mortality. I don't know, I suppose I was just a morbid child." Minerva blinked. Great start to explaining how she became who she was. But then again, how does one go about doing such a thing? "The things that I read—the things that I heard from my parents, being in the fields that they're in—lent me to believe that I could die at any moment. So then my question to myself was whether or not it is worth it," she paused to process, "to hate. Or fear. Or hold grudges. I don't believe it is," she whispered softly, "so I don't."

"I envy you," he whispered back.

Minerva shook her head and smiled sadly. He didn't understand the curse of it. "There are days where I wish that I could hate. Really hate. Hate my parents for expecting so much of me. Hate Gwen for hurting us. Hate you for making me fall in love with you all over again. Hate myself," her voice shook, "for not being able to hate."

The man nodded slowly. She knew that he understood, but certainly he preferred to sidestep what she was trying to convey to him, both to her chagrin and happiness. The man's focused eyes stared into her expressive ones, "I think, Minerva, that you are the loveliest human I have ever met."

In spite of herself, she felt her cheeks grow warm. "Thank you," she whispered softly. He did know what to say and when, when he needed to. She would have preferred him to stay on the topic at hand, but it was beautiful of him to make her feel more normal, more human. For him, she knew it was the same: she made him feel more human. "You know that I think the same of you. How could I not?"

Albus shook his head unhappily. "I do not have the gift of forgiveness."

Her brow furrowed at this. "Of course you do," she half laughed in disbelief. He had done so many things with his life that he could never have done without a sense of forgiveness, of compassion, of love. He was brilliant, certainly, but he was impeccably human at the same time. Of course he could forgive. Minerva could never love someone who was incapable of such a basic thing.

"You…" she shook her head, looking into his pained face, searching for an appropriate response to that. He really believed that he couldn't forgive.

Well, why not put forth the thing for which he was famous? All of the world loved him because he had been kind in the aftermath of that duel in 1945. Surely that was an appropriate example of his ability to forgive. "Albus, you could have destroyed Gellert Grindewald, you could have killed him, ended the fear for thousands of us. But you didn't," she rattled her brain from side to side, "if that doesn't show forgiveness, I don't know what does."

The man seemed to shrink and then grow in less than a second in an attempt at defense. He pressed on with his words as a martyr does: with the knowledge that he knows that they're tantamount to death and ruin. "Minerva, Gellert Grindewald and I were friends."

The woman's stomach plummeted to the floor.

She stepped back from the man in shock, taking him in for what seemed like the first time. That did change things. It changed things quite a bit. Serves her right. The papers don't depict things as they really are—why should she have believed what they said about his relationship with Gellert Grindewald? "Friends?" her voice squeaked with confusion.

Albus cleared his throat, "Yes. For a short while, we were very good friends. And then Arianna died. I had to take care of the family." He looked at Minerva straight in the eye, a thing for which she was thankful. This way, she knew that it was the truth. "We stopped being friends after that. I did not see him again until that duel."

Minerva blinked, inhaling at a very slow pace the information that was being thrust into her face. So they were friends, but then stopped when Arianna died. Being the eldest, he had to take care of the family, therefore Grindewald must have become jealous for not having Albus. Friends do that.

She started and stopped several times before finally getting out the appropriate question: "Friends?"

He nodded and reiterated, "After Arianna died, we separated and became who we were going to be. It was, perhaps, an act of destiny that we should have met again when the stakes were so high. It is, also, lucky that I won. Minerva, I had no right to defeat him, no claim to supremacy. He _would have_ killed me, had he won." It was as if he was trying to prove a point that couldn't quite be grasped. As if he was trying to justify it to himself when it needed no justification.

Gellert Grindewald had killed many—he wouldn't have stopped with Albus. Friends or no friends, it was war. Minerva computed this with sensitivity before finally stating, "Does that not prove my point? You didn't kill him. Forgiveness."

The man stood there and blinked, dumbfounded. Whatever it was that he had expected Minerva to say, that was not it. "I left him to rot to think about what he had done to the world. Is that better than killing him?"

Minerva sighed, "_I_ think so. Not everyone would agree with me," she whispered with a nod. "But I think you made the right choice."

There was a pause before Albus nodded his head gently. He needed time to process. "I'm glad you think so," he walked towards her and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Your opinion means much, much more to me than I think you realize." The man wrapped his arms around her and hugged the woman to his chest. When he released her, he had a smile on his face again. "How did we get on this topic?"

She looked up into her head for the answer. "We were talking about compassion for some reason."

"Ah, yes," he bobbed his head up and down. "What was that you said earlier about my eyes?" The man batted them for a good measure for effect.

Minerva chuckled. The air around them seemed to lighten. She recalled what she had said in the interview and raised an eyebrow challengingly, "You do think I'm shallow, don't you?"

"That's the last thing I think you are," he smiled softly. "Do you have any idea how many women were throwing themselves at my feet after that duel? Hundreds," he nodded with a mesh of pride and disgust. "Ah, but you," he tapped her on the nose, "You, Miss McGonagall, you remained aloof."

"And that makes me earnest?" she grinned with a challenge.

"You know damned well that I had to hunt you down and woo you," he said with a false seriousness. "You made me play by the rules, Miss Minnie. And I won."

"Oh, is this a game, now?" she laughed.

Albus nodded his head. "And I won."

_Tweeeeet_, the kettle went off. Minerva turned around to move it to another burner. Then she walked to where the cups were along with the tea bags. She hated doing things this way, but it had to be done. All she had in sight were tea bags. Minerva held her two options in her hand and then looked at Albus, who was putting his clothing back on. "Peppermint or chamomile?"

"Peppermint," he said while buttoning his outer robes from the bottom to the top.

She turned back around and placed two peppermint bags in two different mugs. They were toted over to the stove.

"I'll do that," Albus said gently as he approached her. "Get your clothes on. We had better get back to the school."

Minerva nodded her head. "Thank you," and began walking over to the pile of clothing. As she began pulling on her undergarments, Albus continued to speak to her.

"You will recall, Min, that we had a spat last night," he spoke calmly.

The woman looked up as she stepped through the first layer of coverage. "Of course," she nodded. "Why do you bring it up now?" She leaned down and grabbed her inner robes, sliding them over her head slowly to listen to his words. It was odd timing to be sure.

"The thing is, I do want to try harder to not hide things from you. So I am going to tell you something that you won't like."

Minerva stared at the man, silently. She reached down to grab her green outer robes, sliding the sleeve over her arms. She was preparing herself, naturally, for whatever it was that he thought she wouldn't like to hear. After all, he was pretty adept at knowing how she felt about certain topics. If he thought she'd be angry, she probably would be. As she began buttoning up, she spoke, not looking at the man. "Well?" she blinked.

She could hear the man clear his throat. "Can you please count to ten after I am done speaking before you respond? That way, whatever you have to say will be calm and collected."

The woman looked up at him, already perturbed at his fearfulness to say what he wanted to say. "Out with it, then."

Her back elongated for her to stand upright. She began sliding her foot into her shoe, not taking her eyes off of the man who seemed genuinely afraid. After realizing that she would not be shifting her attention elsewhere, the man began to speak. "After the article came out, I couldn't sleep. So I went to the kitchens and Rudy was there. We talked and the subject of…well, of my popularity with girls, as it were, came up," he paused as Minerva shifted her weight from one side to another. Oh yes, she knew where this was going. She waited patiently for him to continue.

"Rudy was under the impression that he had seen me…kissing a girl in my office, one he believed to be a student."

Minerva exhaled with a shudder. Oh God. Yes, this was going exactly where she thought it was.

"He accused me of having slept with Gwenella, Min."

She blinked and processed before shaking her head with wide eyes. "Gwenella?"

Albus nodded his head. "And I couldn't have him thinking that. That would be so much worse than anything we could bring upon ourselves. And he surely saw me kissing you. So I told him the truth. I told him that we had an affair and that you were the only student affair I have ever had." He paused and then added with emphasis, "I had to. But you see, the secret is safe with him. If he thought that I had slept with a student all those years ago and not mentioned it to anyone, then surely he can keep the truth to himself. He's trustworthy."

The woman paused, assuming that this was the end of it. One. I should have transfigured Gwenella when I had the chance. Two. Is Rudy trustworthy? Three. When could we have been seen kissing? Four. HAD TO? Five. Why am I just now hearing about this? Six. I've managed to not tell anyone for nine years. Seven. Why does Albus refuse to protect himself? Eight. I am very unhappy. Nine. I can't stay here and look at him. Ten. "Albus," she spoke very calmly, though her voice shook with the amount of control being applied to it, "I am going to go to the castle right now and you are not going to follow me. I do not want to see you or speak to you for at least two hours. When you see me again, I will have accepted this and we will discuss it like the adults that we are. Right now, I just want to blow up everything in my office," she nodded and then apparated without another word. She hadn't even put on both of her shoes.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please :)<p> 


	11. Clarity

**Chapter Eleven: Clarity**

On the bright side, she left him hopeful. She could have said that it was over, that he had broken her heart and he would never get it back, but she didn't. She could have blown up at him—Merlin knows he had half expected it after what happened last night—but she didn't. She could have put him in a body-bind and left him to rot in her flat, but she didn't. Minerva McGonagall did what few people were capable of doing: she showed mercy.

Albus blinked as he stared at the spot where the woman disapparated, her right shoe laying sadly on the floor. He picked it up carefully and exhaled with a frown.

He felt like a liar.

Maybe that's what he was. He could be honest, brutally honest if he wanted to be, but somehow it was always easier to not mention the truth. The truth hurt. And it wasn't just him that was hurt by it—it was everyone.

There were so many truths to be told; told to Minerva, the staff, the world. His fiancée was the only one that would get her due, though. It wasn't that she could take it and the rest couldn't—it was that she was taking him on and the rest of the world couldn't. She didn't have to know all of his flaws, but Merlin knows there were some that he had to tell her.

Albus swallowed with a dry mouth.

It was strange for her to mention Gellert in that context. It began an odd conversation, granted, but she never brought his supposed enemy up in conversation. Unlike all of the other silly girls, she seemed to already know that the thought gave him pain. Why mention him?

Life was funny sometimes.

Now she knew what few people knew: they were friends, once.

Albus didn't blink as his vision went out of focus. He saw in his mind London, ruined by the muggle war, entrenched with rubble and metal. He smelled the hot air, infused with dust and God knows what else. His feet sunk into the mud.

He saw Gellert, wild with power.

They were not evenly matched when Albus apparated feet behind Grindewald. It was cheating. Cowardly, almost. But he could never win by the rules: Gellert had the Elder Wand, the Deathstick. He never saw defeat coming.

Albus threw the final spell. It wasn't crafty or ingenious. No, it was stuff that first years learned. Sometimes simplicity was best. _Petrificus totalus_: Grindewald fell face-first onto the mud.

Had Albus been more vengeful, he could have left Gellert to suffocate, but he wasn't and he didn't. No, he flipped the man over, his angular nose facing the gray sky and his eyes watering.

_Expelliarmus._

The wand flew to Albus' hand, free of its previous owner: it was his. He ran his thumb along the edges of the Elder Wand. Once upon a time, he would have given anything for it. Now that he knew loss and pain, it hardly seemed a fit reward. He would rather have kept his sister.

Without pause, he chose to sit next to his old friend, beaten and straight as a board. He knew people would come. The sparks had stopped flying. The blasts had ended. Surely someone would come to see who their leader would be: Albus or Gellert.

Albus exhaled and looked beside him. He would never seek out his enemy again, not after this. This would be the last time he had a chance to speak to Gellert Grindewald, the man who was responsible for changing Albus's life. He swallowed. "Was it worth it for you?"

Of course there was no response. How could there be?

His eyes said it all. They had the look of defeat in them, of sadness. Yes, Albus supposed that it had been worth it to Gellert to make it to the top like that. "The problem with you, Gellert, is that your vision of 'the greater good' is one where you are the greatest. You have everything because you want nothing worth having. Even when you lose, you really lose nothing," he paused, vulnerable as men are during wartime. "I suppose I should thank you."

That was all he could manage to say to Gellert. He could never communicate the pain he felt for being selfish. For taking away a life. For wanting others to lose their loved ones. Experience now told him that there was nothing worse.

He killed his sweet sister. No matter how much he told himself that it wasn't true, that it was Gellert, he knew. Albus instigated that duel with his fellow power-hungry teenager. What difference did it make if it was his spell or Gellert's that rebounded onto Arianna? None. Either way, she was gone. He was to blame.

On the other hand, he tried to look at the effect her death had on him. Had she never gone, he would have stayed the same. He would be with Gellert, not against him, ruling over the world. Albus knew that in some strange way, Arianna's death was tantamount to the survival of millions of muggles. Maybe that was worth her sacrifice. Maybe.

Albus looked down at his supposed enemy who was staring straight at him. His last words to him came in a whisper: "For the greater good." With that, he stood up. Yellow sparks were sent into the sky with his new wand. All he could do was press onward.

And the same was true in this situation with Minerva. He had to push forward, had to take on the burden he had made for himself. She would forgive him. In time, she would perhaps see that it was a necessity to tell Rudy. Perhaps she even saw it now. She would not have reacted the way that she had if she lacked understanding.

She wouldn't leave him.

Albus' stomach turned as a moment of clarity came and went: she would only leave him if he forced her. He wondered for one painful second just how strong an enchantment love could be.

* * *

><p>Minerva was not a quiet crier. She never had been.<p>

It became worse when there was anger. Discontent. Confusion. Betrayal. There was really no name to give it. The tears came harder, heavier and hotter than they had even with the article—that was only a month ago, she reminded herself. That didn't help. Imagine, a month ago, none of this existed.

She covered her mouth to stifle the noise, curling her head into her knees. It just made her abdomen shake harder, aching from the control applied to it. She forced herself to rock against the door of her office in attempt to quell the noise. When that didn't work, she bit into her forearm, allowing her hot breath to be drowned by her sleeve.

Through blurry eyes, she looked at her office—no, no, his office. It had been his first. What malevolent god had it been who decided that she should get his office? There were others.

Her jaw shook as she attempted to breathe, boiling tears leaking down the side of her face. What was it that Rudy had seen? Was it just a kiss? Or was it something more than a kiss? Did she have her arms wrapped around him? What time of day was it? Surely he wouldn't have been out in the evening and seeing such things. Had it even been her?

Minerva shooed the idea from her head. No, Albus wouldn't have done that. It was her and only her. For Merlin's sake, what other student would have been stupid enough to do what she had done?

Her throat clenched tightly, pushing the pain up and into her eyes. "_Stupid_," she squeaked. She felt absolutely idiotic for holding on to this for so long. Nine years she had spent, holding on to this secret, this thing that Albus just threw out the first chance he got. She had done it for his sake—not hers. He would have been ruined if she told the world about their affair. She would have received sympathy. The only thing that ever stopped her from telling anyone was love. And there he was, just tossing it aside.

She shook; violently, uncontrollably, wildly back and forth her body pulsed.

Love was not meant to do this to a person. Love was meant to be constant, unchanging, fearless in all its ventures. And yet, here was her love, the only man she had ever deigned to envision a future with, hurting her. It wasn't that he told Rudy—it wasn't that he had told at all—it was that she had allowed this secret, this thing to tear her apart for years and it was for nothing. He could never guess the hurt that she felt inside whenever she went to his classroom at the end of her seventh year, or when she looked at the acknowledgements at the end of his papers, or every time someone suggested that she would never find someone worth having if she didn't look. If they had only known.

If they could only have guessed that in the very office she sat, she made love to her professor. It wasn't once. Wasn't twice. It was more than that. Really, the number didn't matter. It was the experience that mattered. She fell in love with her professor. True love lasts a lifetime.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to put pressure upon the wound.

"Professor," a feminine voice came from the other side of the door.

Minerva was too numb to jump when the voice was followed by a knock. Then another. She didn't move.

"Minerva, I know you're in there," Cora said gently. "You're not well. Let me in."

Had she been in a better state, she may have laughed at the irony of Cora wanting to offer emotional support to Minerva. Unfortunately she could barely get out a word, much less a laugh.

She wiped the lingering tears from her eyes and stood up to open the door. Minerva twisted the key that was still in the keyhole and watched her hand as it turned the knob. When the door creaked open, her red eyes met the flying instructor's. She didn't say a word: if she opened her mouth, all that would come out would be squeaks and tears, anyhow.

"What—Minerva?" Cora was shocked in the same way Minerva had been to see the Head of Ravenclaw crying in the owlery. When was that? Two weeks ago? My how quickly things changed.

Two weeks ago she had been at her parent's house. She lied to them, too. Point blank, Minerva told them that the insinuations in the Daily Prophet were ridiculous. Merlin, she had lied to them over and over and over again about this.

The tears burst forth again, erupting from deep down in her stomach and rising with amazing speed through her throat and out her tear ducts. She tried to breathe it back, but it only made her shake harder, more violently. Her voice carried with every hard-earned breath. Minerva sunk back against the wall and onto the cold stone floor. What was the point in keeping it together? Cora had already broken that block of ice in their relationship.

Cora sat next to Minerva after shutting the door. Her arms reached out and pulled the young woman into an embrace.

If there had been any restraints on Minerva's behavior before Cora's entrance, there certainly weren't any now. She shook. And groaned. And wailed. And choked.

Betrayed. Totally and utterly betrayed by the man that she loved. They had a deal: everything would be alright if they could just keep their secret a secret. If it wouldn't be kept, then there would be consequences. Damn right. Not many things could turn Minerva into such a basket-case, but clearly this was one of them.

Betrayed. He said he had to tell Rudy the truth. What was at stake? What had he said? Gwenella would have been the supposed lover. Fine. That wasn't right. He had to tell. Then why was it that this couldn't have happened years ago? Why did she have to carry it with her?

Betrayed. She betrayed her parents by not telling them. They were the dearest things she had in her life and she never told them the truth. They would have understood. They loved Albus. Who wouldn't?

Betrayed. Had Rudy told Cora?

Minerva's breaths grew even again as she inhaled through her nostrils and exhaled through her mouth. She noted how strangely adept Cora seemed to be at this sort of thing—Minerva never would have expected the woman to be good at comforting others.

The room was silent for the first time in an hour. The tears were gone. Minerva had no strength to continue.

"Do you want to talk?" Cora asked gently.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled, "Yes." With what little strength was left in her body, she sat herself up and leaned her head against the wall to stare at the stone ceiling. There was that one brick that was darker than the rest in the center of the room. She wondered how intentional that had been. Surely that was purposeful.

Exhausted, her head slunk down to look at Cora. To hell with it. If Rudy knew, Cora either already knew or deserved to know. "Albus told Rudy something…private," she whispered the word, "about a month ago. We had agreed," her voice cracked, "to never tell anyone. That's why I'm upset."

Cora blinked. "He betrayed your trust," she simplified.

Minerva nodded her head gently, her eyes beginning to water. "He betrayed the whole bloody relationship," she whispered as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "_Did_ Rudy tell you?"

"If he did I didn't think it important enough to remember," Cora shrugged.

In a whisper both for privacy's sake and for the sake of Minerva's overwhelmed throat, she admitted unhappily, "You wouldn't forget this sort of thing. I don't suppose anyone would." She blinked and processed what Cora's statement meant. "I'm glad he didn't tell you. I can tell you, now." Yes, to hell with it. It didn't matter anymore. Albus had told. Why shouldn't she? Why should she not be freed from this weight on her shoulders?

Cora shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to be in the middle of the spat you're having. If Rudy does…"

Minerva shook her head violently. She would not take no for an answer. That's all the world seemed to have to offer her. Every attempt she made to make good of a situation, things turned out terribly. Anytime she had come close to happiness, the world took it away. By Merlin's beard, Minerva was going to make even the playing field. She was going to give herself someone to talk to. She was going to spite Albus. She was going to bring ruin upon herself, not wait for it. "Listen to me!" she yelled like a child throwing a tantrum.

The flying instructor grew still as the room echoed with Minerva's voice.

She blinked, her clammy eyes refusing to let another tear go. She even swallowed down the cry emerging in the back of her throat. "Cora," her voice shook, "Albus and I had an affair while I was a student."

Cora blinked, dumbfounded to the nth degree.

Minerva knew what the Ravenclaw Head was thinking. She simply went on with it. There was no point in waiting for questions. "At the start of my seventh year, I asked Albus to help me become an animagus. We decided to set aside time in the evenings for instruction," Minerva swallowed. Looking back, none of it was quite right. "By early October we were great friends. I of course had always had a school girl crush on him. Most girls did, mind you," Minerva pointed a finger at Cora whose expression had become one of eagerness. "But something…changed," she shrugged. "Albus gave me a beautiful birthday gift."

Minerva reached around her neck and unclasped the locket, handing it over to Cora who examined its beauty. Nothing came from the flying instructor's mouth. No doubt this was a lot of information to be given at once.

"I couldn't"—she inhaled as she computed her response—"help but start to believe that he saw me differently than the other girls." She paused. What came next? "Nothing happened between us for another month or so, though I will admit the tension was rising and we both knew it. I look back on it and think it was a game—who would break first?" She swallowed down saliva and shrugged, "It was mutual. After my first successful transformation, he kissed me."

The woman closed her eyes and recalled that first kiss. It hadn't been clumsy like so many of the others she had encountered. This wasn't a boy. This was a man; one who wanted her, one who had fought valiantly to stop himself from encountering scandal by being with her. "Of course we both were scandalized after it happened," she whispered with a mixture of regret and embarrassment. "He apologized emphatically. I think he thought I was going to tell someone." She chuckled gently to herself. "He didn't count on me being embarrassed, too."

Cora's professorial expression was daunting. It was no surprise that she should be judging everything Minerva said in the negative light. Minerva didn't expect anyone to see it as she saw it. He was her first lover. Right or wrong, that was the truth of it and that would always resonate with her.

"We kissed many times after that. I was certain I had fallen in love for the first time. And then," she blinked, "Albus had a brief moment of conscience. After a Hogsmeade visit, he asked me into his office." Minerva swallowed as she reminded herself that it had been this very room. "Albus told me that it had to end. That it wasn't right. Which was the truth," she nodded with the wisdom of time. "I took it graciously and left his office a little broken-hearted, but I understood." The woman paused as she saw herself walking down the corridor, shivering and then looking back at the open office door. "On my way back to the Gryffindor common room I realized that my coat was missing. I had left it in his office by accident. I went back," she swallowed. "And we made love."

The memory was worse, clearer, when she was in the office. Minerva could see herself being swept away by a kiss, by his hands, his hot breath. The aftermath left her next to a fire with a man who, for the first time in his life, was not sure what to do next. "We began a very calculated affair. I used my animagus form to get around the castle after hours. It really was a brilliant plan. No one would have known if they weren't looking for it. But I suppose someone did," Minerva sighed. "The Headmaster found out. Rather than sacking Albus, he offered him an ultimatum: stop the affair or leave Hogwarts." Her eyes began to water at the thought. It was the right choice, but that didn't make it hurt less. "Of course he chose the school," she whispered.

"And so I was heartbroken. I had not expected a future," she shook her head slowly. "Not then. I was put out by how short it was. Just a month. And I was hopelessly in love, but unable to tell anyone. You're the first person I've told. Ever." Minerva inhaled and released with a sense of freedom. "That last year was difficult for me, as you can imagine. I suppose it was difficult for Albus, too. I spent several days in the hospital wing after going hypothermic—I've been told that Albus rarely left my side." Minerva exhaled. He did care for her, that was certain.

"I didn't find that out until recently. It may have meant something to me, to know then," she swallowed. "At the end of the year, after we had been released from Hogwarts, Albus asked me to come back. We were free to do as we pleased and he wanted me." Minerva paused and shut her eyes for a second too long. She could remember that look on his face. "I was too proud to say yes. He tried to give me back the locket. I told him no to that, too. We didn't see each other for a very long time after that.

"When he sought me out at that Ministry party seven and a half years later, it was as if no time had passed. There were things we needed to discuss, to be sure, but I still loved him. So here I am now."

Cora exhaled emphatically, blinking in order to accept all that had been thrust down her throat. It was a lot to chew. She bit her lip and nodded her head slowly. "That's quite an account," she said slowly. "Not anything I'd expect from either of you. Not what I'd expect from Armando, either."

Minerva bobbed her head, "That's why we got away with it, I suppose. No one would believe it."

The Ravenclaw Head nodded her head slowly. "And the reason that you're out of sorts is because Albus told Rudy about this?"

"Yes," she swallowed. "I don't know how much he revealed. That's not really the point. It's that he said something when I was sworn to secrecy, when I've kept this, this _thing_ inside of me for all of these years." The tears had started again. The romance was gone and the reality had found its way back into her mind: she was offended; deeply offended. "I gave up so much to protect him," she whimpered.

"That can't have been easy for you," Cora shrugged. She paused as Minerva fought back the impulse to begin crying again. She put her hand on Minerva's. "And I see why you would have done it: love makes you do crazy things, even hurt yourself for the good of your partner. But I have found that with time," she added hopefully, "these fights, these squabbles, are in some way tantamount to success or ruin. Without them, you would never know if you're really meant to be together. It's what makes the good times that much better."

Minerva blinked, feeling both reassured and all the more insecure. She reminded herself of the way she had seen Cora acting in the owlery. After that day, things for she and Rudy seemed to improve tenfold. Hope existed. Moreover, Minerva thought with some insight into this: it had never quite occurred to her that Cora loved Rudy. True enough, they were a couple, but they never seemed 'in love'. They were. Just ten to fifteen years past the stage that she and Albus were. By then, maybe the little things weren't so little anymore. They were the things that made one cry in places alone. "Cora, what had you been fighting about that day I saw you? Was it anything like this?" she whispered.

She shook her head from side to side. "My son. We were fighting about my son."

Even through blurred eyes, Minerva was struck with the penetrating brown of the flying instructor's eyes. No, that was neither a small thing nor expected. "You have a son?"

Cora nodded her head. "He goes to a muggle school to learn his maths and English. He wouldn't get on here, I promise. Or at least that's what I think," she sighed. "Rudy wants him to come here. We've been fighting about this all year."

Minerva rubbed her eyes until they were raw. So Cora and Rudy had a son. Yes. That made perfect sense. In the way that Minerva had not known that they were married, she would not have known that they had a child. What's more is that suddenly all of Cora's out-of-character behavior on that day was explained. "How old is he?" she asked delicately.

"Sergius is nine."

"Sergius," Minerva mouthed. "That's a nice name," she nodded gently. And she meant it, too. It was a very nice name. "He's at a muggle boarding school?"

The flying instructor bobbed her head with a frown, "He hates it. And I can't blame him for it. He knows he's different," Cora blinked. "He doesn't like it. I've come to the realization that maybe Rudy is right. Maybe we ought to look into him coming here and staying. Rudy is in the process of asking Albus."

The woman inhaled deeply. The immediate cause for this was the mention of her lover's name. The secondary cause was the realization that while she was worried about school girl secrets, the rest of the world was caught in other, more important cross-fires. How did her feelings hold up against the happiness of a family? How did her feelings hold up against the success of the school? Besides that, having told someone her secret seemed to lift all of that tension from her body. It would serve no one for her to feel anger towards Albus.

"I hope that goes well," Minerva nodded slowly. A genuinely compassionate smile came upon her face. "If you wish, I can discuss it with him."

Cora shook her head gently, "I think you've got your own problems to deal with."

Minerva nodded in gratitude. Cora really was a pleasant person once she decided to befriend you. "Thank you."

The room went silent, but warmly so. Minerva's thoughts drifted back to her problem, which suddenly seemed so much less important; perspective changed things. Rudy wouldn't tell anyone. He hadn't even told his wife. No problem existed on that front. As for Albus sharing in the first place? That was wrong of him, but perhaps he did have to do it. Had Minerva been in a similar situation, she may have told. Of course she would never blurt out such vital information, but had she been pressed, been accused of a different affair, she probably would have set her accuser straight. And perhaps…perhaps she had no right to blame him for her keeping the secret to herself. She bound herself to silence. To love. He couldn't be blamed for that. "Cora?" Minerva blinked.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you tell people that you and Rudy are married?"

Cora let out a sigh before responding. She knew that her words would speak to the younger woman. She knew that they were true of Minerva and Albus, at least to some degree. Cora also knew that they held some clear relevance to the transfiguration professor's sadness. She turned and looked at Minerva with a shrug, "Because then he would define me in the eyes of everyone else."

Minerva nodded her head slowly and whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

><p>There comes a certain clarity when the worst could happen in any given situation. One sees what they could have done better and what they could have done worse. What really matters. What is worth having and worth throwing into the fire. Albus did not think that Minerva would leave him—he wasn't that insecure. He did have some doubt about their relationship, however. He was trying to tell her everything, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that she never knew what she was getting herself into when she started seeing him. He was defective. It wasn't kind to ask her to take him. Still.<p>

Albus blinked.

He was happy with her. He always had been happy with her. No one but that girl could make him feel good. Not about himself. She believed in him. Truly believed in everything that everyone thought he was: good, intelligent, powerful. She didn't know how dark he truly was, not inside his mind. But she was the light.

Albus inhaled slowly. She would not leave him. Minerva loved him too much. She was attached to him. Or was that being too arrogant? He did have the tendency to be too prideful. He shook his head violently from side to side. If there was one thing he deserved, it would be happiness with the only woman he had ever loved.

He had always loved her. Always. Maybe it hadn't always been romantic, but there was affection from the very first class he had with the girl. She knew too much for her own good about transfiguration, even then. It made sense, of course: she was a McGonagall.

A soft grin slid across his face.

And then there was the first time they made love. He remembered it all. He remembered it well.

It's amazing, the imprint moments of ignorance (or stupidity) leave, Albus mused. It wasn't planned. Frankly, the opposite was planned: he had made up his mind to never see her again, not like that. He couldn't be seen kissing a student. What's more is that she understood. She didn't like it, but she understood.

Sitting at his desk, he watched her leave. She turned her back and walked out of the room. Albus couldn't help himself but stare—not in a sexual way. He was struck with the realization that she was dearer to him than he could have imagined. It wasn't sexual. It was affection. It was love.

His heart would heal, he told himself. It was for the best, for him to stop it before they did something unthinkable. Something unimaginable, even. That was a lie. He had imagined it. And he felt ashamed for it. She was a student. He was a teacher.

And then…Minerva came back. Forgot her coat, of all things.

Yes. He made the move. It was wrong, terribly, unforgivably wrong, but he did it. Albus kissed her. Nothing feels so good at taking back what you've let go, so her lips were softer than they had ever been, her mouth hungrier than before.

There was no thought there except 'don't think about it'.

The rest was primal desire. Don't think. Just do.

With her legs wrapped around his waist, he took her to the only cushioned area in his office: the settee. Through the charmed wall and down the stairs as she kissed him madly on the neck and the ears, he rushed. He placed her on the cushions, sliding himself on top of her. They were still fully clothed, but there was no doubt where it could go. Where it would go.

She wasn't fearful about it. True to form, she attacked the situation directly. Minerva was the one to push his robes off. He countered by sliding hers off. The thought of her young skin still gave him tingles of desire. All he had earned were her arms thus far, but he fully appreciated the way that they tangled themselves around his neck, how they reached under his clothing to touch his skin. He could still feel her hands scratching against his back.

It was a slow process, making love. Nothing was rushed that first time. Maybe there was something instinctual in it: he did not know until after that she had never been with anyone. She couldn't hide it, of course, and he had not thought. The blood was cleaned up easily enough while she sat on top of the cushions, naked, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Reality set in as she looked at him, perhaps realizing what had just happened on a practical level. It was hitting him hard then, too. Not only had he just made love to a student: he took her virginity, too. Shameful.

He didn't know what to say. He wasn't angry, not with her. He was angry with himself. He had fallen in love with a student and he couldn't fix it. What was done, was done.

Minerva was the one to break the silence. She cried. She cried loudly. But he held her, wrapped his arms around her soft skin as she buried her head in his chest. He didn't suppose anything could ever remove that memory of her shaking against him from his mind. Sense-memory.

"Minerva, I love you." Those were the words that finally came. He meant them. Nothing but love could have made him do that. Lust was one thing, but love was another. This was love. He did not regret being with her because it was her. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that she was a student. That was the fatal flaw to their relationship.

His words only made her start sobbing again. The trouble was that Minerva knew it was the truth. She also saw the end, just as he saw the end—at least he hoped she had.

Shameful as it had been to make love to the woman, it was even more shameful, what went through his mind as he held her. He couldn't keep her. He knew that. Albus calculated how long it could possibly last. Maybe two months. Already he was considering how it would end. Before it even really began, he was wondering how it would end. Who would come to their senses first?

Albus blinked to himself outside Minerva's office. Where it all started. Where it ended. Where he proposed.

It was sobering to realize that one can lose everything that one holds dear in a matter of a few hours, a few seconds, even.

He knocked.

Minerva opened the door with a warm smile on her face, "Professor Dumbledore."

The man nodded, "Professor McGonagall. May I come in?"

She shook her head gently. "I'm just leaving. To dinner?"

He blinked, surprised. "I was under the impression that we were meant to talk about some things that were said earlier."

"I understand why you said what you said," she claimed gently. "And I also understand that you did not have to confess. For that, I suppose I can't complain," the woman nodded. She had given this thought. Much thought, indeed. "I've told Cora everything about what we were and what we are. If you're willing to accept this, then I suggest that we don't talk about it again." The woman stared at him with cool, stoical anticipation.

Well that was a surprise. All of it. No discussion. Just acceptance. Albus blinked. She was too quick to forgive, sometimes. "What we were and what we are?"

Minerva nodded and responded curtly, "There are now five people in this world that know about you and me. The truth. Armando, Cora, Rudy, you, and me. I think we're all trustworthy people, don't you?"

He didn't know what to say. He started and stopped several times before finally saying, "Yes. I do."

"Then let's keep the secret between us."

Albus cleared his throat. "You're taking this much better than I thought you would."

She bobbed her head slowly. "I don't profess to understand you, Albus. But I do understand that you would do anything to protect me. It's damn frustrating," her mouth twitched ever so slightly, "but there are worse things to have in a lover."

A grin crept across his face. "I don't deserve you."

The woman gave a quick chuckle and grabbed his hand as she walked in the direction of the Great Hall. She held it until they were outside the doors.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R Please.<p> 


	12. Falling

**Chapter Twelve: Falling**

Things could never be the way that they had been. They had crossed another barrier together and there was no turning back. The proverbial bridge was lying in ashes.

Minerva stared up at the ceiling from her bed with a lost expression. She wasn't actually seeing anything anymore, just shadows. Light and dark. Her vision was out of focus. All of her felt numb from the day's events.

A tall man with red hair sat down beside her, pushing the mattress down only a foot away. Her body naturally shifted to face him, though her she refused to allow her vision to come into focus. "Tea?" he asked gently.

"No," she whispered back. She didn't want tea. She didn't want anything—except for the knowledge that she hadn't made a mistake. Merlin, she loved him, but she didn't want her life to be spent jumping through hurdles like this. It wasn't worth it. Love wasn't worth this sort of pain.

"I want to make this better," he whispered after a long pause passed between them. "You said you've forgiven me, but I'm not entirely convinced."

She felt his hand crawl over her own. He was right.

"Your hand is cold," he stated, entwining his fingers with hers. It was a statement. Nothing more and nothing less. But she could read between the lines: she was being cold to him. It wasn't just her skin.

"I'm so cold," she blinked, "that I feel numb."

"I can fix that," he squeezed her hand. "How about a bath?"

Minerva shook her head, "The last time I took a bath we fought. More than that," she shrugged, "we said terrible things to each other." The last month had not escaped her. She may have said that it was okay, but it wasn't. It was not forgivable, the things that had happened. She ran a list off in her mind. The article. The interview. The spat. The lies. Rudy. It was bubbling up at an alarming rate.

"I didn't mean it," he crawled over to her and leaned over her face so she could see nothing else. He forced her to focus on him. He was serious. More than that, he was sincere. "When I said that you're a disappointment. Or that you were disappointing. Whatever it is that I said, I could never mean it."

There were his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that told her that she was his world—or that she could be, if she wanted. How could she keep herself from being sucked into them? They were filled with emotion. He was sorry. But so was she. She was having her doubts. For the first time since it all began, she was truly having doubts. He sensed it, too.

"Something is wrong," he frowned.

The woman inhaled and then exhaled slowly. "Not wrong. It's just been a long day."

"Maybe I can relieve the tension for you? I can give you a massage, if you'd like. You usually like that."

She processed the possibility of such a thing. Perhaps he was right. Maybe she needed to relax. To stop thinking. Merlin, she wished that her thoughts would stop racing through her mind. "Yes," she whispered softly. "That would be nice."

A soft, relieved smile crossed his lips. "That's a good girl. On your stomach," he motioned after he slid himself off of the bed.

Mindlessly, she did as she was asked and rolled onto her stomach. She felt her warm breath bouncing off of the quilt and hitting her again on the cheeks. She placed her arms under her chin. Much better. Her eyes closed in anticipation of utter relaxation.

Her exhalation was in sync with the man's touch upon her shoulder blade. She felt her body shift down into the quilt with his firm push. His fingers seemed to fight the pain that had been building up. Just a single moment of compression and she was aware of how tense she really was. Heat seemed to spread both up and down from the man's fingers. Her first inhalation seemed a gift; she had something with which to fight his touch.

"Mmmm," she exhaled with satisfaction.

His other hand joined, washing over the other shoulder blade. Already things seemed somehow less tense. More hopeful. "You're tight, Min."

"I know," she whispered. It wasn't something she thought about, of course, but there was no way to deny it. She was tense. "Life has been so stressful lately," the woman sighed.

She heard him sigh in response. "That's behind us now. The press."

Minerva opened her eyes to look across the room, then closed them again. She preferred the darkness. "You've no reason to make me believe things that aren't true, Albus. They haven't even posted our interview. Who is to say that they'll not stir up trouble for us?"

He pushed forcefully with his palm along her spine. She cringed under the pressure. It felt good for certain, but it knocked the breath out of her. "They won't," he spoke with certainty. "We have it in writing. They can't do anything to hurt us."

Oh, but they could. Not legally, of course, but they could. "He knows we're engaged. How long do you think we can keep _that_ secret?"

"Long as we want," he began rolling his thumbs around the point of her shoulder blades. She saw bolts of lighting fly across the darkness of her eyelids. It felt wonderful.

"Not true," she groaned. "They don't need our permission to publish that sort of thing. And what can we do? It's the truth." That it was. Engaged. That's what they were. The reporters didn't care at all what they published. It was worse when it was the truth. They couldn't deny it.

"Maximillian will wait until an opportune moment to say it, if he's going to write it out of turn. It wouldn't be in the near future. He'll have to wait at least another month before he takes advantage like that."

Minerva fought hard against the waves of relaxation that were striking her. She forced herself to stay alert, to continue feeling the emotion. "How can you say it so calmly?" she whispered. "Another month? This nightmare just doesn't seem to end."

"We could," he transitioned his hands to the base of her neck, "always announce it."

The lightning-like flashes she saw on her eyelids grew with ever brush he had against her skin. She was not unaware of what he was doing. He was manipulating her. Of course that didn't make her want it to stop. His hands were magical. "Albus, we haven't gotten anything decided," she said as she shifted her head to face the other direction.

"It will be this summer. We can say that much."

She opened her eyes and shut them quickly when the light registered. She had to remind herself what was being said. "That's hardly enough for an announcement. Much less one that we make to the press."

His hand stopped for a second while he thought of a retort, but his hands began moving again with his response. He was in earnest. "Then let's make plans."

"Albus?" It wasn't that she thought he wasn't interested in making plans. It was just something that had taken a backseat to all of the drama that occurred within the last month. It caught her by surprise to be speaking about it. Especially when she recalled the events of the day. How had they jumped from secrets and interviews to marriage?

"Sunflowers you said you wanted. Very well. We'll have sunflowers." He leaned down and kissed her gently on the side of her ear. He stayed there, his hot breath leaking into her ear with an air of tenderness. "If you want it in Edinburgh we can do that as well. My only stipulation is that we do it this summer so we can take a honeymoon." The man kissed her again and then leaned back to continue the massage.

She only vaguely heard his words. His hot breath kept her from using her sense of hearing—touch took its place. Suddenly she felt a sensory overload. Silence drifted through the room as she loosened her grip on control. What was it? Five? Ten minutes that passed?

Her half-awake mind reminded itself of the conversation. "Why would we want to announce it?"

His response was quick—perhaps too quick for the mood of the room. "They'll find out regardless of how careful we are. We will be sending out invitations eventually, anyhow. Surely word will get around."

This was true, of course. It had already been proven to them that they couldn't keep secrets. In any case, the press already knew. They lost nothing by making a press release. They only gained the satisfaction of knowing that they controlled when the knowledge was passed along.

Her thoughts shifted to invitations. They would have to do that, wouldn't they? That would have to be soon. Maybe over the winter holidays. "How many people are you expecting to invite?"

"Haven't given it a thought," he said off-handedly as his hands switched to the top of her shoulders. His magnetic fingers dug to the valley of soft tissue between her scapula and collarbone. "Quite a few, I'd imagine," he whispered.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes fluttered open against her better wishes. The light burned. Her head hurt from it. Albus was no idiot. Yes, he was manipulating her; he knew she wouldn't like that. "You've only got Aberforth. And the staff. Who else is there?"

He pressed with some force against her skin. She pressed right back as best she could.

"Minerva, there are many people in the Ministry that I need to invite. The Minister of Magic. Wizengamot members. Various other people that I've worked with over the years. People I've fought with," he paused and added with a sigh, "We had better invite the press as well—just one reporter. They'll find a way to sneak in, anyhow."

Minerva didn't respond. There were no words to say. He could be downright tactless sometimes.

Seeing her lack of response as a reason to continue speaking, he added with certainty, "I wouldn't worry about Aberforth. He wouldn't attend."

She blinked. Who in the bloody hell was this man? "You want to invite the press but not your brother?" she asked slowly for fear that she'd explode if she didn't.

"I said he wouldn't attend, not that we shouldn't invite him," he said gently. He was not getting emotional about this. But then, he never got emotional over his brother. Whatever it was that divided them ran deep. It was a great mystery. "And like I said," he pressed on with the best of intentions; "a press member will find a way to get in regardless of what we do or don't do. We may as well invite one or two."

This lull of comfort and stress-relief was not about her to lose her stance. She retorted very matter-of-factly, "I refuse to do that."

"Don't be silly, Min."

Silly? Hardly. "I'm not being silly. I don't want one of those leeches near my wedding."

"Would you rather them write fallacies than actually be there?" his voice rose. Clearly he was frustrated. Minerva could tell by the way he was digging in his fingers with that last question. It was bordering on painful now.

"No, I'd rather them not _write_ at all," she hissed.

He snapped back, "That's hardly an option."

Her whole right side jerked as pain shot up from the edge of her shoulder up to her eyes. That hurt. Merlin, that hurt. She brought her head to where the pain had been, short-lived as it was. She inhaled the smell of the quilt as she begged her body to forget the pain.

Albus put his head next to hers and ran a gentle hand along her back. He didn't ask her to look at him, but she did. The man looked just as sad as she felt. "Sorry," he pleaded. "I don't mean to hurt you."

That may have been one of the most honest moments he had ever had with her and she knew it. He never meant to hurt her. This much was true. She shook her head sadly. She just couldn't take it. Minerva looked at him with big eyes, "Make them go away, Albus," she whispered. "Make it stop." They were just fine before the press came along. Perfectly happy.

He whispered back unhappily, "I can't do that."

"Why not? You're Albus Dumbledore," she swallowed. "You can do anything." She knew this was perhaps stretching his powers over other people, but it nearly felt true. At least it did at one point in time. She was in love with him because it was almost as if reality knew no bounds around him, some days.

"I wish that was true," his voice cracked. Minerva could have sworn that she saw tears forming in his eyes, but he moved too quickly for her to be sure. He sat up and returned his hands to her back. She processed this and filed it away in her mind. "How is this?" he asked carefully.

Minerva swallowed, ignoring the moment that could have been. "Lower."

"This?"

She wasn't feeling anything anymore. She was so very tired of feeling that she stopped herself. "Wonderful," was her deadpan response.

A deep, painful silence filled the room. It stayed, too, as his fingers kneaded out the literal tension of her spine. It was a gesture of love, she knew. Somehow it didn't help the feeling of uneasiness that was creeping upon her moment after moment. Dead. She was absolutely dead.

"I thought, Min," Albus paused with unease, "I thought for a second that you would leave me this afternoon."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It was true. Sometimes when things ring so close to the truth, one can barely keep it in. "I considered it," she said gently. There was nothing to add to it. Indeed, she did.

His insecure response seemed to act as a weight in the room, compacted her body to a single point of tension in her chest. He responded with, "You did?" Yes. Yes, his voice cracked. She knew by the sudden onset of the sniffles he'd received. He may have even started crying.

Minerva didn't dare desire to turn around, though. Her chest hurt enough as it was. "Yes," she sighed. "You betrayed my trust, Albus. What reason do I have to trust you when you go off and say things to people? Things that affect me as well."

He didn't respond straight away. She heard his controlled breathing. God, the last thing she wanted to do was make him cry. "You don't—" his voice broke with a resounding shatter. His hands left her back and he rolled to the edge of the bed, feet on the ground, leaning over his knees. Minerva didn't need to turn around to know this was happening. Still, she did. She did turn around to see the man, hunched over and shaking.

If her heart had not already been broken, it broke then. Her hero. Her lover. He was crying.

She wasn't so dead that it didn't cause her throat to tighten.

It may have been seconds, it may have been minutes that passed as she watched him crumble. Yes, crumble was the right word. He fell into himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. She could hear the wetness of his tears as they drained into his mouth, as he breathed them out. She felt him shake; like an earthquake, his sobbing caused the bed to rock. He was a quiet crier—not like her. There was no voice in his tears.

Minerva sucked in her own impulse to tear up at the scene before her. It wasn't that she didn't think that Albus Dumbledore cried—she simply had not seen it, not like this. She had seen tears, but not this. The woman was unprepared.

She crawled off of the bed and went to its edge, in front of the man.

The arms that she loved so much reached longingly around her waist and pulled her to him. His head fell somewhere between her abdomen and pelvis, sinking into her robes. He made no eye contact with her, but simply held her there while he shook, while the tears leaked onto her.

Her hands slid over the top and side of his head. She was struck for a moment, just how small he had made himself. She cradled his head like a child. Like a child who fell in the street.

"Don't leave," he begged through sniffles. His voice shook, "P-please don't l-l-leave me."

"Sh," she whispered motherly-like. They would have this conversation. It wouldn't be now, not with him like that.

Through her robes she could hear the strain of his voice: his mouth was open, but nothing came out. His grip loosened ever so slightly so he could look at her. His eyes were filled with liquid, liquid which was seeping out at an alarming rate. They were red already, the beautiful whites of his eyes. That wasn't what struck her, though. It was the look of hopelessness in them. He perhaps was acting prematurely—she wasn't going to leave him, not then—but she was grateful, on some level, to see that he was willing to fight for her.

"I love you so much," his voice quivered. "I'm so," he inhaled unsteadily, "so sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry…" he inhaled slowly and exhaled twice as slow. Tears flooded down his face. "…that I'm arrogant and secretive. But Minerva," he shook his head, "I need you. I need you…" he trailed off and his head collapsed again into her stomach. As his body shook with the weight of tears, Minerva shook with him.

She held his head close to her.

His hands clenched at her back, digging into her skin. She could see him fighting for control of his body, of his emotions, but it was for naught. The only words she heard from him for the next few minutes were "I'm sorry"—and that always came through tears.

Minerva processed the fact that the quivering lump of unhappiness she held her in hands was the man that she loved. And that she had done this to him. It wasn't all her fault, but she was mostly to blame. She ran through her mind the other factors that led him to be this way—she was an academic, this was how she solved problems. The press: Merlin knows what else they were going to do to them in the future. The school: surely balancing a relationship and being Headmaster of a school had to be difficult. The secret that they were trying so hard to keep secret. Gwenella: surely they hadn't seen the last of that woman. His past, perhaps: Minerva hadn't completely processed what he had told her of Grindewald, but that couldn't be pleasant knowledge, to know that your friend is actually your enemy.

She blinked. "It's fine," she whispered soothingly. She did the charitable thing and added, "I'm not leaving you. I wouldn't do that, not now."

This only made him cry harder. "I need you," he shook.

"I need you too," she sighed, knowing that at the moment, this was the truth. She couldn't get on without him, not anymore.

"I want to make it better." He lifted his head again and looked at her face. She didn't wipe away the tear that was sliding down her cheek—he wasn't the only one in pain.

Perhaps that tear was reassuring for him. Or maybe it was enough to kick in the protective instincts he had. His own tears stopped, however slowly. And his hand that had been clutching her back reached up to remove the drop of sadness. Minerva melted in his warm touch, placing her own hand on his. She loved him.

"How can I make this better?" he whispered, his red and blue eyes of glass staring into hers.

Her vision was scratchy, painful, tight. She was very physically reminded of the day they had endured. She recounted it all in half a second: The interview, sex, Grindewald, Rudy, Cora, lots of tears. And now this: more tears. She wished this day had never happened.

Minerva shrugged. "I don't know."

Albus nodded his head gently and then swallowed. "I'll make them go away. I'll pay them off or something. We'll stay here," the man whispered. "We won't let them in. You hate them," he slowly bobbed his head.

"I do," she blinked. That was the absolute reality of it all. "I thought you said you couldn't make them stop," Minerva whispered. She had only just asked him for this favor. She couldn't help but be put out at how quick the change was. Maybe it was because he was pleading, now. Perhaps he felt that this was the only way to keep her. Perhaps that was a correct assumption.

"I will do whatever I have to do, Min. It won't be easy."

A gentle smile crossed her face. Nothing worth doing was easy, was it? She did admire his will to please her, to make things easier for them. "Then do it," she bobbed her head ever so gently.

He half-smiled at her, the worry still on his face. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she whispered and then kissed him on the forehead. She pulled his head to her stomach again and held it there: that was the best she could do to show her affection for now. Minerva kept him there for several minutes. She listened to him breathe and she assumed that he did the same.

"It's snowing," Albus said gently after a few minutes had passed.

Minerva turned to look at the window. "So it is," she smiled.

"It's after hours," he pulled away from her body and grinned up at her.

The woman blinked. That was a non-sequitor if ever she knew one. "I don't understand," she shook her head.

Albus nodded his head gently. "I know where to find the best view on the grounds. We can sip hot cocoa and talk. Really talk."

The woman processed his suggestion. "Is it somewhere neutral?"

He bobbed his head gently. "Unless you've taken to astronomy recently, I think it is."

"Okay then," she whispered.

* * *

><p>"What was he like?" she asked after sipping her cocoa for the first time. She cradled her mug in her ungloved hands. She was cold, but said nothing of it. Her mind was elsewhere.<p>

Albus inhaled gently. He knew who she meant. It was brilliant, what she was doing. Minerva thought she was avoiding some of the conflict by talking about Grindewald, perhaps getting to know Albus better again, but in reality, she was leading herself down the terrifying path that he would tell her to take.

He looked down from the edge of the astronomy tower at his dangling legs, then at the woman's. Lucky for him, neither of them minded heights.

His gaze picked up to look at the woman, who was staring out into the snowy, black sky.

The man sighed and looked forward again, "Brilliant. I had never met someone like him. Except for maybe myself." That was being brutally honest. They were very much alike. "He had a thirst for excellence, for power." He looked over at the woman who was staring at him attentively, "And so did I." His head bobbed sadly. "He had a terrible temper. When we disagreed, things had a tendency to get ugly." He could talk about it, about the accident, but somehow he just didn't think it was right. It was the wrong day, the wrong time. Surely their relationship was hanging on by a thread as it was. "You know that's why he was in Godric's Hollow: he was sent away from Durmstrang. Expelled. So he came to live with Bathilda Bagshot, my neighbor. It was just a summer—we weren't lifelong friends or anything like that," he blinked. It hurt to look at the woman's face: she thought the world of him. "Arianna died in August of that year."

Minerva took another sip of her hot cocoa and scooted closer to the man. One of her arms slid around his, and then her hand drifted down to clasp his own. She was exceedingly kind, Minerva. He didn't deserve her. "You would have liked Arianna," Albus bobbed his head slowly. "And she would have liked you. You're both very kind people."

A soft, sad smile crept over her lips. "I'm sorry I won't ever know her."

"Me too," he whispered.

Silence crept in. All that could be heard was the soft thuds of the snowflakes on the ceiling. The quiet of snowfall: both magical and terrifying.

Albus took in the opportunity to collect every memory he could of the woman. It's what one does when one feels like they're about to lose something—or when one has gained back a treasured possession. She was so beautiful, especially with her pink nose and rosy cheeks—the cold brought that out in her. Her eyes were red. Still red. With any luck, that would be gone soon. He would not make her cry. She needed to get whatever it was that she wanted right now.

"Why do you think Aberforth won't attend?" she asked gently.

The man thought of a diplomatic way to respond to that. Surely 'I killed our sister' was an inappropriate response. The man shrugged, "We don't speak, Min."

This seemed beyond her comprehension, of course. She had no siblings, but she was exceptionally close to her parents. The idea of not speaking with one's family members had to scandalize her. Minerva blinked incredulously, "Surely he would come to your wedding. He's your brother, Albus."

Sometimes truth hurt. "We stopped being brothers a long time ago."

She shook her head dramatically, "He's your blood. You'll never stop being brothers."

"I wish it was different," he nodded his head honestly. He really did. But he couldn't change the present no more than he could change the past. "We have agreed to go our separate ways and that is that," he paused. That was too harsh. He was being defensive for no reason. She just wanted to know. "Some things are just better off not said, Min. Aberforth and I have nothing good to say to one another, so we don't. That's all."

The woman squeezed his hand gently. Her voice came in meekly, "Why are you two enemies? I don't understand."

He could hear the difficulty in her voice, the way that she was treading lightly. She had had a few very hard days and she didn't deserve it. He inhaled gently, "We're just…different people. We've agreed to disagree." That was all he could manage to say and she didn't push the issue. She leaned in to him, placing her head on his shoulder.

This woman's love knew no bounds and for that he was grateful.

Albus sighed, "You're cold."

"Yes," she whispered softly. "But I don't mind. This is nice, being here with you. I wish I could just stay here forever."

He nodded his head slowly. He remembered what he'd said earlier in the day and felt ashamed. "I didn't mean it when I said that I hoped you freeze to death."

She snuggled in closer to him, placing her mug behind her. He could feel her breath through his robes as she sucked in his warmth. "I know you didn't," she looked up at him with a grin, "It happened, Albus. Stop punishing yourself. I just have a proclivity for the cold," she laughed gently at herself.

He rolled his eyes. "Proclivity my eye. You're sucking all of the warmth I possess right now, my dear."

"Mmhm," she rolled her head against his robes as if she were a cat.

Albus grinned: it was fitting, the fact that she chose a cat for her animagus. He enjoyed the joke that came to his mind: "Perhaps I start calling you Tabby. How would you feel about that?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question," she lifted her head to look into his eyes. She raised an eyebrow. "Please don't."

He shook his head gently. "The last thing I want to do right now is upset you more."

The woman nodded in response. "We need to talk about it, you know. About the last few days." Her eyes bore into his. This was her version of a plea. Minerva didn't beg, not with her words. Her eyes did all of the talking.

"Yes," Albus admitted sadly. "Yes, we do. Where do you want to start?"

A soft, sad smile crossed her lips. "This afternoon, I suppose."

"What about this afternoon, specifically?" He wanted her to dictate this conversation. He was tired or running things, tired of feeling like he was running her. It was his fault that the day happened at all. Without the interview, nothing else would have been said. And of course it was his fault for telling Rudy. Somehow he didn't think that was really the issue, though.

"My understanding," she swallowed, "is that you had no choice but to tell Rudy about it. I can accept that," she nodded her head slowly, "And I can see that you agreed to stop keeping secrets from me, so you told me about it today, even if the event itself was a month ago," she nodded her head again, as if she was counting out her thoughts. "I just feel like I need to take a moment and be a little bit selfish and explain something to you," she blinked.

He cleared his throat, "By all means."

She bobbed her head gently. Her green-red eyes looked into his, which burned. "I never told anyone about it, Albus. No friends. No colleagues. Not even my parents," she hesitated to go on. "It—It hurts terribly to know that you just," she shook her head from side to side, "said it. That is not to say that I don't think this affair has harmed you in some way, that it hasn't held you back—please let me finish." She put up a finger as he was about to retort.

"But Albus, you must step back and consider how young I was. How alone I have felt, carrying this secret with me. You can't imagine what it did to me to see you in the papers. To find out that you were the man who changed life for all of us," she shook her head gently and swallowed. "Albus, it was like I couldn't get rid of you from my life." There she went again, pleading with her eyes. The soft glow of the light made them beautiful. "I'm not sure that I had a chance to move on because there was no way to close that chapter of my life," her voice shook ever so slightly. "I did it to protect you. I didn't do it for myself. If I had done what was good for me, Albus, I would have told everyone and ruined you. Instead," she tried to smile, but couldn't, "I waited for you to do it. Can you not see how that might hurt a person?"

It would be a lie to say that he wasn't keeping in a sob.

No, he hadn't quite thought of it like that. He was simply doing what needed to be done. He was not entirely conscious of the history that seemed to be at work with admitting the truth to Rudolph, at least not as far as Minerva went. No, he couldn't imagine that. She was very young, a baby, almost, in the grand scheme of life. "I see it quite clearly," he nodded his head gently. "I had no idea what I was doing, not to you. I'm sorry."

She nodded her head gently. "It's my fault, too, for keeping it in."

"No," he shook his head. Here, she was wrong. She was terribly wrong. He, too, had his own secrets harbored in his chest and they weren't worth holding onto when they hurt so badly. "It's my fault for asking you to keep it in. That was wrong of me. I don't think I ever stopped to consider your side of it. I just went on my merry way," he nodded sadly.

"I never asked you to think about my side," she whispered. "Thank you for listening."

Albus moved his head up and down. She didn't mean to, but he was feeling terrible about himself because of her. It was true that he was selfish. That had never quite gone away, despite his best efforts. "I don't deserve you," he sighed. "You're too good for me."

"Yes," she kissed him ever so softly on the cheek with a smile, "but the unfortunate thing is that I'm hopelessly in love with you. I think I can bring myself down to marry the greatest wizard of our time," she raised an eyebrow.

She knew that she made him feel bad, but she was wonderfully gifted at lifting him up again. That's why he needed her. Why he loved her. Merlin, he loved her. And she loved him back. True, there was a part of her that was in love with the image of him, but he knew that she recognized him for what he was. He nodded his head, "Don't call me that," he asked gently, "I don't deserve the title. To you, I'm just Albus."

Minerva nodded her head and leaned into his shoulder again. Her eyes stared out at the snow which was falling at a leisurely pace. He glanced out at the cold and then back at the woman. Maybe this wedding thing would be too much for them. Maybe the press had a hold of them and they couldn't get out. He did not want to do this again. It was too much for one day. The man sighed, "We could always elope."

A short pause drifted between them. It was warm, but filled with questions.

She didn't look at him when she responded. "No. I want my parents to be there. And my friends. I won't do something as cowardly as eloping."

He processed her response carefully. They could always invite family and friends, the important ones. They had no reason to fear elopement in that way. This left only her word, 'cowardly' to question. "You think it's cowardly?"

Her head bobbed against his shoulder. "The only reason we'd be doing it is to avoid them. I won't do it."

Albus swallowed. "You know it won't be easy, marrying me."

"Nothing worth doing is easy," was her simple response.

He nodded his head. "You think we can keep them out?"

Minerva blinked and then turned her head to look at the man. She had a fire in her eyes that had been almost diminished for what felt like an eternity. He loved that look on her face. "I want to try," she said calmly. "We'll find some way of doing it," she nodded her head confidently.

He had his doubts, but they had no reason to not try. They had tried it his way so far and it had brought them nothing but unhappiness. Maybe it was time to try it her way. He could do that, let her make the decision. Minerva wasn't a child. "Okay then," he said gently, "We'll fight it."

A gentle smile broke her lips. That was maybe the first real smile he had seen all night.

Albus placed a kiss on her forehead and then her lips.

They turned to look out at the falling snow. Indeed, he shared the woman's sentiments. He wished that they could just stay there forever, right there, in that moment.

END PART I

* * *

><p>The first chapter of PART II will hopefully be up in 2 weeks. :) Please Review. This chapter took a lot out of me and I'd really like to know what you think.<p> 


	13. Uninvited

**PART II**

**Chapter One: Uninvited**

"I do."

"And do you, Agnes Celia Burnham take Berthold Aaron Horus Rhytherton to be your husband?"

"I do," the bride exclaimed with confidence.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Minerva smiled gently to herself as she watched her friend take his bride in a passionate kiss. It wasn't prolonged, just quick and simple, but she could see the intention behind it—she looked for things like that.

The woman stood up along with the rest of the group as the wedding party ascended from the altar and walked up the stairs to the reception. They all had to be in a hurry: the rain had started falling. She didn't suppose that many members of the party were carrying wands: what reason would they have for them on such a good day? Shielding the guests from rain had fallen on their own heads. Minerva brought out her own wand and transfigured a flower into an umbrella. Simple.

She walked alone up the stairs, wrapping her coat tightly around her. The wind was picking up. She blinked through the rain as it spat in her face. Just like that, the sunny day was gone. Oh well. They were going inside anyhow.

Minerva walked through the glass doors, currently being held open by some smartly dressed middle-aged men. The one on the right side nodded. She recognized that nod, but it hardly mattered. She was on a mission to find a groomsman.

She nodded in gratitude and looked around the giant room for Albus Dumbledore.

He was a smart man, waiting near one of the tables by the designated dance floor with a grin on his face. He twirled his wand in his fingers as if to show off. He was feeling pretty high-spirited today, she could see. "How on earth did you manage to get so wet?" he smirked.

Minerva shook her head with a grin curling on her face, "Blame the weather." She cocked her head to the side and snapped back playfully, "Care to dry me off, Professor, or haven't you got a spell in your brilliant mind to help me?"

Albus winked and responded with an appropriately happy tone, "I think it's a good look for you. Makes you look…" he waved his wand around tauntingly as he looked for the right word, "springy."

She pointed a finger at him with none-too-serious menace, "I don't need you to be smart right now, I'd prefer it if you'd be kind and dry off your date."

He shrugged and flicked his wand in her direction. The water seemed to evaporate on the spot. She touched her palm to her hair and clothing before nodding at him, "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, my dear professor. Do I get something in return?"

Minerva blinked. She could make a guess at what he meant. Only because she was feeling particularly happy did she offer. "Do you want a kiss?" she looked at the man with knowing eyes.

"Would be nice," he raised an eyebrow. "If you feel like showing some affection."

A blush crept on her face. "For you, I think I can show some affection." She took the extra step required to be close to the man and met her lips to his. Her arms wrapped themselves casually over his shoulders and his hands rested at the small of her back. Minerva smiled up at him, happy to be where she was with the man.

He leaned in greedily for a second sign of affection. Minerva rolled her eyes and allowed him to claim her lips again.

"You are in a giving mood, I see," the man grinned.

"Maybe I just like weddings," she whispered with a wink.

Albus nodded his head gently. No doubt he was as excited as she was, being in such a lovely ceremony, seeing such a nice venue, feeling what it was to be a part of it all. Weddings were quite enjoyable. Once one got past the stress, they were the ultimate party.

"Most women do," he raised a playful eyebrow.

She released her grip on the man and took a step back as she registered the people that walked past her and her lover. Couples, mostly, who no doubt had had their moments, but she had no intention of making any sort of display in front of so many colleagues. Albus and Minerva rarely went anywhere public together: they preferred to avoid unwanted attention. The woman looked up at him apologetically and he nodded with understanding.

"What can I say?" she said gently, "I'm a romantic at heart."

"I know," Albus smirked. "You'll be fine, sitting at your own table?"

Silly question. She didn't usually take dates to weddings, anyway. Minerva nodded her head with confidence, "Of course. It's just dinner. After that, I'm sure you'll find your way over to my table."

He shrugged, "Perhaps."

What a tease he was. He knew damn well that he'd be anxious to get by her side, especially after a toast or two and a drained glass. It wasn't often he got a chance to have fun, not in this way. Moreover, anyone with cameras would be there for the purpose of capturing memories—no one was there to get them.

Freedom supreme.

A man wearing black dress robes and a wide grin slapped a hand on her lover's back. "Albus—Albus, Aggie wants all of us men at the table," Berthold said with white eyes. "Minerva!" he straightened up, surprised for whatever reason to see her.

She grinned back up at him, "Congratulations, Berthold."

"Thank you," he nodded. "Mind if I steal this man from you? You can have him back later."

Minerva glanced at Albus who perhaps thought Berthold as comical as she did at the moment. She had never seen a person so bursting with happiness—and she had been to several weddings. This was a whole new level of joy and scatter-brainedness.

"Not at all," she shook her head with an amused smile, "I'll even give him to you."

"Why thank you," Berthold bowed exaggeratedly, arms to the side with his palms up.

The woman looked from Berthold to Albus, whose body was stiff, and his hands covered his mouth. The man couldn't keep it together. She pointed a finger at him and raised an eyebrow. Albus inhaled and nodded in the direction of the groom; Berthold didn't seem to think anything of it. Clearly, this was going to be a good night.

The two men nodded at Minerva as they went to the table of the wedding party.

She turned to look around the room for her name-card, drifting from table to table, occasionally saying hello to those that she knew. There were many of them. Or at least, many of them knew who she was. Minerva wasn't sure if she was offended or not that she seemed to be known so well. No doubt they all read the Daily Prophet.

"Minerva! Over here!"

Minerva turned quickly in the direction of the voice. She knew who that was, yes she did. A smile flashed across her face at the sight of Aveline Finnigan.

She could feel her robes billowing behind her as she made her way to the woman, who looked just as anxious to receive a hug. Minerva wrapped her arms around her friend, her fellow academic. Why hadn't they kept in touch this last year? It was so wonderful just to hear her voice.

They looked at each other and had a giggle of surprise. Maybe they were too old for that, but Minerva felt like she deserved a moment.

Minerva took Aveline in for the first time in at least eight months. She looked great. Perhaps she had gained some weight, but it suited her well. That woman would look beautiful no matter what she weighed.

"How _are _you?" the thirty-odd year old woman grinned. "I read all of that trash in the Daily Prophet and thought I'd send you an owl, but then I figured that you'd have enough to keep you busy," she frowned apologetically.

She shook her head, "I'm doing quite well." Minerva leaned in close to the woman and whispered gently with a nod, "Albus was able to give you an invitation, was he not?"

Aveline bobbed her head and shrugged, "I was a bit put out that you weren't the one to give it to me."

"Albus thought it'd be best if he just did everyone at the ministry. I took everyone else. We're taking our time, doing a few people each weekend," she nodded. "We'll chat sometime in private about it," she beamed. "Speaking of," she looked around the room, then back at the woman, "where is your husband?"

"I haven't the foggiest," she shrugged with a giggle. "Don't worry, he'll show up in time for the speeches. He has this strange obsession of asking me every five minutes how I'm feeling. Who would have thought?"

Minerva blinked. "How you're feeling?"

A frown came upon Aveline's face, "Well that proves it. I look fat, don't I?"

What? "No," she shook her head, "no you don't at all."

"I keep asking him if I look fat or pregnant and he keeps telling me that I look pregnant, but I'm not entirely sure."

Minerva cleared her throat. She understood now. Excitement rose up within her for her friend. Her eyes grew wide and her voice went low, "Pregnant?"

Aveline nodded her head happily and stuck out her fingers to indicate, "Five months!"

She reached in to hug her friend again. It's amazing, what changed in a matter of eight months. So much joy. So many surprises. Minerva knew that when she wrapped her arms around this woman, she was holding two beings, in some strange way. Maybe she was overly emotional these days, but it was good to feel happiness of this magnitude. "Congratulations," she said gently.

"Thank you," Aveline beamed. "It's due mid-July, if our calculations are correct. And you know Tom doesn't make bad calculations," she giggled. "Serves me right for marrying a ministry lackey," she winked.

"Minerva!" a kind male voice spoke from behind her.

She turned around quickly, knowing this man must be Tom. He was wearing festively blue robes, no doubt because his opportunities to wear such a thing were few and far-between. He put out a hand for the woman to shake, but she swatted it away in place of a hug. She let go as quickly as she wrapped her arms around him, but it was nice to see him. She looked beside herself at Aveline and nodded. "I am told that I should offer you my congratulations," Minerva smiled gently.

"Thank you. We're quite excited, you know, to be having our first," the man shrugged with a smile that radiated halfway across the room. He blinked, coming into his thoughts. "Avee tells me that you'll be making the leap this summer? Congratulations to you," he smiled. "Albus is a good man."

Minerva nodded her head gently, "Thank you."

"Is he not staying to eat?" Tom looked at the table and the lack of a name-tag belonging to Albus Dumbledore. "I was looking forward to having a friend."

"He's sitting with the wedding party," the woman smiled. "Keeping with tradition and all that. Don't worry," Minerva winked, "he'll be over here as soon as he has a drink or two in him. The two of you can have a fun night together," she said.

"Now I know"—he pointed a finger at Minerva—"that you're poking fun at me, but I cannot stress the importance of drinking with one's fellow man. We bond."

Aveline rolled her eyes and shook her head, "You just want a reason to drink, Tom, don't make it out to be some big important cosmic truth."

"Fine," he shrugged with a look of defeat on his face, "I just want to drink. Happy?"

The woman shrugged, "Yes."

Minerva blinked, looking from husband to wife as they continued bantering. They were happy and that made her smile. Of course they picked on each other, as was evident, but it was all good-natured fun. They had always been like that. She rarely saw them be serious around one another—maybe that's why they worked well with each other. After all, they both needed a way to vent after the days they typically had.

She had a giggle to herself as she recalled Aveline talking about '_the number-cruncher'_ from the ministry, how he had no idea of how to talk to women. Merlin, she was downright offended when he asked her on a date. She said no twice. And now look at them. They were having a baby together.

Yes. Minerva believed in love.

Her head turned absent-mindedly in the direction of the table where the wedding party sat. Four groomsmen, four bridesmaids, a groom and a bride. Her eyes were only for the redheaded man on the end, though. He nodded in her direction. She nodded back. A smile came on her face.

* * *

><p>"I love youuu," Albus whispered playfully into Minerva's ear.<p>

She rolled her eyes. Why did she agree to be the sober one? While amusing when schnockered, Albus was a bit too silly. He didn't care, of course, but she certainly did. "I love you too," her cheeks glowed red—whether this was because of embarrassment or the warm room, she couldn't tell.

"You know," he swallowed and processed as tipsy people do, "I've—I've been thinking. You should do that anima—animag—animagus unit. With the N.E.W.T. studentsss." Albus nodded his head, dropping it just a wee bit too quickly and picking up too slowly.

She smiled inwardly at the adorable trainwreck he was right now—outwardly, she raised an eyebrow and looked at him seriously. "You said it was too dangerous?"

"M-hm," he shook his head and then stopped suddenly. He reached across the table for his glass of water. The man took a sip of it, put down the glass, and then picked it up again for another swallow. He emptied the cup. Minerva watched with amusement. Lo and behold, Albus Dumbledore with a temporarily lowered intelligence level.

He sat there upright for a few seconds, processing the world and then turned back towards her very slowly. "You should do it," he nodded solemnly. "If they want to learn, you should teach them."

Minerva shrugged. She didn't often play the Devil's Advocate, but she felt inclined to get a rise out of the man. There was no way she could lose with him in that state. "Suppose they don't? What if they read our papers side by side and decide that it's too dangerous? That they want to keep their limbs and whatever else?"

Albus shook his head and pointed a finger at her. She watched as his eyes followed his wrist, then his finger, then looked at her in the face. "You read my-my art-art-…pa…per," he nodded with his words. "You st-still did. it." He cleared his throat.

Indeed she did. Perhaps she had too much faith in thinking that her seventh years would want to partake of magic like that. Terrible things happened, sometimes. Minerva was fortunate to not have ever had anything too tragic happen to her. She blinked to herself, preferring not to linger on that thought. Her thought process snapped back to the man who was staring at her with foggy eyes, "I would have done anything to be near you," she whispered. "Besides, our work is very different. If I had my work shown to me then, I might have changed my mind."

"No," he rocked his head from side to side, "your work is inconclusive"—Minerva blinked in surprise at his lack of speech impediment with the word—"you'll return back to it, if you…underssstand my meaning," he winked.

Minerva rolled her eyes. He certainly did have an interest in anatomy. Of course she wouldn't dream of telling him that she found it attractive—at least not in public. She shook her head, "Drink more water. Your glass refilled itself."

He looked at the glass, then at the woman. A grin came on his face, "Ah, magic." And he took it in his hand, looked at the glass a second time, and then began gulping it down.

She giggled aloud. It felt good to laugh. Maybe too good. Her giggle expanded to a full, body-shaking laugh as she internalized the excitement that Albus had on his face to have his water. Moreover, he seemed to register on some level that she was laughing at him, but he didn't seem to care in the least. He drank the whole glass, then looked at her with wide eyes, "I have to go to the loo."

Her hand came over her mouth to stifle the laughter. To hell with it. It made no difference. She buried her face in his robes. The confused expression she imagined to be on his face only made her laughter erupt louder. It was blank in her mind, his face. Completely blank. Blessed relief?

She lifted her head up and looked at him, tears of laughter hanging on her cheek.

He peered at her with a curious expression, "the loo?"

Minerva bit her lip and then nodded. Her hand lifted up and pointed towards the back of the room. "Do you need me to come with you, Professor?" she smirked.

"Don't be s-smart with me, Miss Mc-Mc-Macagle."

Too cute. "I'll forgive you for that, Professor, because I love you," she smiled. "I'll take that as a "no, I do not want your help"?"

"Yes," he nodded and stood up. He walked with cautious awareness in the direction that her finger had been pointing. Somehow he managed to make it to the right corridor—whether he made it to the right door is a completely different matter. Minerva couldn't see him after he turned the corner and she thought she'd leave herself the option of being pleasantly surprised when he came back.

A smile hung on her lips.

"You look happy," a man's voice wafted in through the stupor of quiet joy that had claimed Minerva.

She turned slowly to realize that it was the groom who had spoken to her. Imagine that. "I would have thought that you had other people to entertain?"

Berthold shrugged. "Aggie does the entertaining. I just stand there. Right now she's having a few words with some of her work friends. I thought I'd see who was still around while she did that," he nodded slowly. "And I found you." Berthold put out a hand for the woman to take. "A dance?"

Minerva looked towards the lavatory, then the corner where Agnes was: she did look very engrossed in conversation. The woman turned back towards the groom. A dance couldn't hurt. It had been a long time since she really had a conversation with Berthold. With Bertie.

She nodded and stood up from her chair. Berthold led her out on the dance floor and placed a hand on her hip, enclosing her other hand in his own. Minerva put an arm on his shoulder. Things felt strange. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something was just a little bit off. As if they somehow didn't know each other anymore. Maybe it was just that he was married now, and she would be married soon. Maybe not.

They began box-stepping, from side to side. There were not many words at first, for most of the first song, even. He looked lost, Berthold.

"I'm sure it's been a long day for you," she said gently.

Berthold nodded. "We were up before the sun was, getting things ready." He paused, lost in thought, then began up again, "I'm glad that Albus was able to come. Aggie was on the verge of tears when Collin cancelled. I hadn't expected him to be willing. Especially not on such short notice." He shrugged. "He's a busy man, Albus Dumbledore."

Minerva nodded gently, "He is. But he was happy to help."

The woman did not need to be told that he was busy—he had always been a man of multiple interests and connections. It had been kind of Berthold to ask Albus to fill-in, as it were. Moreover, Minerva knew that it had less to do with his relationship with Albus and more to do with Bertie's relationship with her. Minerva knew this, and was grateful.

"Thank you," she added gently, "for asking him."

Berthold bobbed his head slowly, "It was my pleasure." A gentle silence clamored over them as the music stopped. Neither of them moved, though. They waited for the next song to begin. Bertie sighed in the silence, "I hear that the Academy is giving you an award this summer."

She blinked. "Did Albus tell you that?"

The music began to play. Berthold held her tighter, like a child clutching onto a finger. There was an uncomfortable glimmer in his eyes, now. "He did. He also told me that he submitted your name. Convenient, don't you think?"

The woman understood, now. She looked at him coolly, "Convenient for Albus to submit my name?"

"Yes," Bertie cleared his throat. "You'll be marrying him soon, won't you?"

Minerva had expected there to be accusations since she learned about the award a week ago, but she had not expected it from Berthold—then again, he certainly was not a stranger to egotistical behavior. The woman processed very quickly what was happening. Her voice was cold and threatening, "Do you suspect that for one moment I do not deserve some sort of recognition? Do you suppose that everything that I have learned and gone through, the personal sacrifices I have made, are not worth a little piece of paper?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I am only suggesting that you've taken advantage of the playing field, as it were, by landing yourself a powerful husband."

She inhaled. She exhaled. Then she inhaled again. As of when did her fellow academic forget who she was? Minerva never would marry someone for power. She wouldn't marry just anyone for sex, either. Surely Berthold knew that. Surely he knew that she had to be in love with whoever she married. The woman was just out for happiness. "Berthold," she exhaled, "I do hope that it's jealousy speaking. You can't honestly believe that I'd do that? I love Albus."

He shrugged, "I'm sure you also enjoy the perks that come with him."

Minerva shook her head from side to side. Perks? The woman saw no reason to be kind. She began slowly with her list of grievances, "You certainly cannot _fathom_ the amount of problems that have arisen out of my decision to marry him. I live at the castle and stay at the castle because if I leave, I know that someone will be watching, waiting to take pictures and ask questions. I have to deliver _wedding invitations_ by hand, for fear that they'll end up in the wrong hands!" She pushed the man's hands away from her waist, "I am forced to have over one hundred people that I have never _met_ on the guest list. And to top all of that off, our honeymoon will be spent in London. Do you know why?" A shrewd, angry smile came across her face, "Because we're going to a bloody transfiguration conference for which Albus is giving the keynote address!" She paused and stared at the man who was inhaling her every word, "Now tell me, Berthold, do you suppose that for one instant, for a single solitary instant that I would be willing for all of this to happen for just anybody? No," she shook her head, "And if you suppose that I am, then you don't know me."

Bertie added it all up in his mind and then nodded. "You cannot deny that it looks suspicious."

She blinked. No. No, she would not take any of this. "Goodbye, Berthold," she looked at him straight in the eye, "Congratulations on your marriage. Consider yourself uninvited to mine." With that, she turned around and found Albus on his way back from the loo.

"We're going," she hissed. "Do you have anything you need at the table?"

He shook his head, dumbfounded. "Going?"

Minerva didn't answer. She took his hand and in a flash, they were at the edge of Hogwarts where the rain downpoured.

* * *

><p>"You need to sleep," he sat up from the bed, staring at her. It was after three, far too late for Minerva to still be awake. He zonked out hours ago, but found his semi-sobered self awoken by the lights from down the stairs. She had no reason to still be working.<p>

The woman shook her head from her desk. "No, _you_ need to sleep. You've had too much to drink tonight."

Albus rubbed his tired eyes and looked at her with quiet frustration, "Minerva, will you let it go? If it will make you feel better, I'll tell Berthold that his paper was also submitted."

"Is that the truth?" she looked up at him, judgmental eyebrow raised.

He shrugged, "It could be."

The woman turned her head and buried herself in the work. Surprise, surprise. Albus rolled his eyes. "_Accio_ grading," he whispered. The stack of parchment in front of the woman flew up to the bed none-too-cleanly. They cracked between his fingers, though the cry of anger from the woman couldn't quite compare.

"_Albus!_ You give those back to me right this second!" she shrieked.

The man shook his head. "I'll bring them back to your office. This isn't healthy. Not at all."

Minerva shook her head dramatically, "Those are papers for my class. You have no right to touch them, let alone—"

"I am taking them back," he nodded with authority. "You cannot stop me, Miss McGonagall, unless you plan on dueling and I will say that that is a mighty foolish idea indeed," he raised an eyebrow of his own as he slid off of the side of the bed. Slowly, of course—he hadn't quite slept off all of the alcohol. He looked at the woman when there was no retort: the fire in her eyes had burned out prematurely.

He exhaled as a tiny pang of guilt touched him. He didn't like her unhappy. Albus swallowed and shrugged as the moment changed, "You're working yourself to death," he said gently. "Sleep. It's a pity that tonight wasn't as enjoyable as it should have been, but you can't very well continue going at this rate, Love. I'm saving you from yourself," he whispered, "just as I expect you to save me from myself."

She blinked and accepted his statement with a nod. "I'll get ready for sleep. You'll return my things to my classroom?"

"Classroom?" he blinked. "Not your office?"

"Not my office," she nodded gently. "These are for my first class in the morning. They may as well start in the classroom."

He nodded in acceptance. "I'll be back soon."

With that, he threw a robe on and left the room. He went down the usual staircases and the usual corridors, saw the usual paintings (all sleeping) and then approached the usual archway. But he stopped short when he heard some giggling. Girlish giggling. He blinked. What in the name of Merlin?

Albus sneaked closer to the doorway and peeked in, his hands clutching the stone wall. He opened and shut his mouth several times as he processed. What ruthless god allowed this to happen?

He stood upright again and walked in through the doorway only to find two students snogging, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, his hands running up and down her body. Albus cleared his throat and willed his wand's light to exude across the occupied classroom. "Evening," he said gently—not that he needed to. They got the hint. The male student practically threw her on the floor in surprise.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Orin Jenkins half-whispered, half-yelled.

Albus nodded his head, his eyes wide as he noticed the purple marks on the girl's neck. She looked up at him as a scared child looks upon an angry parent. The thing is, of course, he was not angry—between the strange bit of irony that had suddenly hit his world and the traces of booze that stuck in his system, he could never be angry over this. Assuming, of course, this was a mutual event.

"Mr. Jenkins," Albus nodded. "Miss Landon. How are we tonight?" he asked gently, looking from one student to the other student. They did look petrified. Lucky for them, Albus had a sense of decency to him, particularly when it revolved around evening adventures.

"Fine," Mr. Jenkins replied.

Albus cocked his head in the direction of the miss among them. "And you, my dear?"

"I'm…I…sorry," she shook gently.

The man inhaled the air and let it fill his lungs. He needed an answer before he proceeded. One can never be too careful with teenage boys—he admitted to himself gently that grown men were hardly any different. "Mr. Jenkins, will you perhaps be willing to leave the room for a second or two? I've got to have a conversation with Miss Landon. I'll call you back in when we've finished."

The boy nodded his head. He looked worried, of course, but then again, who wouldn't? Orin left quickly.

Albus turned towards Kate who looked completely dead. She was caught, after all—there was no way out. "I just want to make sure that this is what it looks like and not something more," he nodded gently. That made her look even more frightened. "You two planned on meeting here to do, what I assume, is the equivalent of romantic activities?"

Miss Landon nodded.

That much was obvious. He could guess the rest, but it _was_ something he needed to ask about. "Perhaps you didn't want to be seen by your fellow Huffelpuffs? You wanted privacy?"

Kate nodded her head gently, "Yes," she whispered. "People are always in the common room."

Albus blinked. People spied everywhere, apparently. "Is this the first time?"

She shook her head from side to side, "Third."

The man bobbed his head slowly. "You are aware, I assume, that being out at this time of night, particularly for actions of this nature are quite prohibited, are you not?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," she sighed.

Albus had a strange moment that he quickly shrugged off as he looked upon the girl. He had seen that look on Minerva's face before. "Thank you. Please grab Mr. Jenkins for me."

The man watched as the girl hurried out the door. Many thoughts raced through his head in those seconds, least of which was the resonance that this scene had for him. It was even the same room. Albus rubbed his tired eyes. He was not looking forward to this. He hated punishing students. It had to be done. Especially for something as outlandish as this.

The two students entered slowly, guilty expressions on their faces.

Albus folded his arms in front of him. Authoritative stance. "I can't let this go by, you two. It's three a.m. You're snogging in Professor McGonagall's classroom. That's two counts that I should say," he nodded, "are quite punishable. So you will be punished," he blinked. Albus looked between the two students who were certainly fearing the worst. The thing is, he had to do it, had to do his worst. "Sixty points each. And your parents will also be receiving notes, making them aware of this incident."

Kate began crying. Orin allowed her to cry on him while he stared daggers at Albus. The man nodded. Yes, maybe a bit harsh. Maybe he wouldn't actually send the letters, just let them think he had. They couldn't be doing this any more. "Mr. Jenkins," he said gently, "could you please take Miss Landon to her common room and then proceed to your own? I assume that I will not need to escort you."

"Yes," Mr. Jenkins hissed. And then perhaps he thought better of it and added, "Yes, sir."

Albus watched as they walked out of the room, him holding her. Albus was not without sympathy, especially in matters like this. Yes, he wouldn't send the letters. That was too big of a scare tactic. But it probably worked. It hopefully worked. He reflected on his own actions. Yes, he would have stopped if he had been caught. But then, he had more to lose.

The man came into himself and looked around the room. The half-graded papers sat next to his hand on a desk. Without a second thought, he stood up, placed the papers on her desk, and left. The only thought on his mind was that he needed to tell her. Minerva would want to know. Her heart would go out to them. He knew she had some sort of soft spot for Kate—this didn't surprise him—after all, they certainly did share some likenesses. Moreover, the situation would ring true to her as it rang to him. They had been in love, just as these teenagers potentially were.

Although, Albus nodded gently to himself, he was merely surmising that Kate and Orin were in love. Maybe they would be over in a week. Merlin, he'd hate to be the reason that one or both of their hearts were broken. What a terrible position.

* * *

><p>I hope this was fun for everyone. Please review! See you in 2 weeks.<p> 


	14. Games

****I apologize for this being late. To make up for it, this chapter is longer than the others and has a bit of mystery to it. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Games<strong>

"Professor Merriweather," Albus spoke at the sight of the man as he crossed through the corridor in the direction of the Great Hall. It was very important that he should speak with Thurston before he saw the house points, very important indeed.

Thurston turned his head and stopped at the utterance of his name. He didn't look very happy, but then again, he didn't seem to be particularly happy most of the time. Maybe the weather was to blame: it was still raining.

"Headmaster?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I need to have a word," he spoke gently, "if you'd care to follow me."

The man blinked, confused. "Has something happened?" Thurston asked as he walked in the direction of Albus, who in turn began walking down the corridor towards his office. They didn't go to Albus's office, however. Albus took his second-in-command into an empty classroom and was sure to shut the door behind him.

"What is this about?" Thurston looked worried. "What's happened?"

Albus heaved a sigh and sat in a lonesome desk. He didn't like this business, not at all. All of that prep of the morning over what he would say somehow didn't quite seem like the right words anymore. He began anyway, "Two of your students, two Huffelpuffs, were found quite late last night out of bed," he cleared his throat uncomfortably when he saw the perturbed look upon Thurston's face. "Moreover they were having relations in the transfiguration classroom. I have been informed that it was not the first time."

That struck a chord. Horror latched onto Thurston's face: "Relations?"

"They were snogging," Albus nodded his head for clarification, "nothing more, but it is certainly a serious matter, I think, for these things to be happening after hours." Completely aware of the ironic nature of what he was saying, Albus did his best to hide the sympathy that he felt towards the young couple. They certainly had broken some rules. Still, they were only human. "They have both been reprimanded and a large number of house points have been taken away. Somehow I don't think detention is quite appropriate."

"Who found them? Minerva?"

Albus shook his head, "Me."

"Who?" There was no need to add more. Who were the culprits, that's what he meant to say.

"Kate Landon and Orin Jenkins."

Confusion overtook the look of horror on the man's face. Apparently this union was a surprise to him as well. "Are you sure?"

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow, "Of course."

The room fell silent as the Deputy computed this new set of information. He scratched his graying beard and then cleared his throat after a solid minute, "I never would have thought. _Snogging_? Them?"

Albus shrugged, "Stranger things have happened."

He reflected to himself the reception that the couple was having from the staff. He had never given much thought either way to Miss Landon and Mr. Jenkins having a relationship, but last night, Minerva was in utter shock. Thurston didn't seem to be much different. Why should both of them think it so unlikely? He had seen Mr. Jenkins trying to get her attention on multiple occasions—why shouldn't she give in? Albus had to give the boy a hand for persistence.

"That's a terrible match if there ever was one," Thurston shook his head violently. "You can bet it was his idea to sneak out. Now why," anger began rising in the man, "wouldn't they have stayed in the common room? How daft are students these days? When I was here, we did the reasonable thing and stayed in the common room!" He stopped, a thought occurring to him. His pointed finger to the ceiling matched his moment of clarity, "I'll put him on suspension from quidditch."

"Hold it there, Thurston," Albus held up a hand. Too much. That was far too much. There was no need to punish them further. "I only told you their names so you can keep an eye on them. They have already been punished."

"By taking away some house points?" his arm opened wide, palms to the ceiling, now. Apparently that wasn't enough. Albus felt the need to correct the use of "some": they were being punished plenty.

"A collective one-hundred-twenty points, Thurston."

Thurston stopped dead. His eyes narrowed unwittingly as he stared at Albus. If he had been angry before, he was livid now. Albus guessed that Thurston felt that they were being appropriately punished now—and then some. "One-hundred-twenty house points?"

Albus nodded, "They'll be suffering enough as it is. Besides, they can't be happy with the knowledge that it was the headmaster that walked in on them."

"We can't catch up from that!" Thurston threw his hands into the air. "One-hundred-and-twenty house points? There are better ways to deal with this. Punish them, not the whole house!"

He blinked, anger bubbling inside of him. Somehow Thurston never quite got a handle of the situation at hand. It was about the students. This couple, yes, but there clearly was a problem if they felt safe leaving their common room after hours. It was about all of the students. His voice came out calmly, "They were out of bed at three in the morning snogging in an area where they had no right to be. Tell me, Thurston, that they don't deserve to have house points taken away."

"Not that many!" he shook his head violently, arms waving madly. "I demand that you give us back at least sixty points."

"No," Albus shook his head. "Absolutely not. If you want to win the house cup this year, then I _expect_ your students to behave extraordinarily well for the next few months."

"I won't have it!" Thurston thrust his fist upon a desk.

Albus inhaled and got out of the desk. He stood tall next to Thurston, having several inches on him. "Thurston," he said in a low tone, "you are not acting like a person with your status. You are the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will accept my word and push for your house to achieve excellence in order to come back into the lead. Furthermore, you will not seek to punish either student more than they already have been. This is a hard time for them and as an educator, it is your responsibility to be sure that they get on the right track. Do I make myself clear?"

There was pause. Thurston never liked to be told what to do. Perhaps that was the reason why Albus was promoted before he was. It was about the students. Not the professors.

Thurston nodded his head, "Yes."

"Very well," Albus blinked, "you're dismissed."

With that, Thurston walked quickly out the door and into the hall. Albus stood back and leaned against the desk.

That was an unpleasant interaction. Moreover, it wasn't beyond Thurston to retaliate. He was nothing if not competitive. Albus' jaw shifted from side to side as he pondered what course of action to take next. Somehow he had just landed himself in the middle of a battle between heads of houses. He could tell already. Oh well. He had better tell Dorian, Cora and Graham. With any luck, Albus was wrong.

* * *

><p>"I want to go outside"—it wasn't a statement so much as backwards command.<p>

Minerva looked up from her desk, a gentle smile on her face. She expected that. "It's raining. Your mother wouldn't like it if you caught cold."

The child's dark eyes stared up at her wittingly, argumentatively. "Mum's outside, isn't she?"

She blinked, maybe enjoying this a bit too much, "No, I don't think she is today."

"Well then where is she?"

Minerva put down her quill and approached the boy. She chose to sit in a desk while he hovered by the window that was being splashed with rain. His arms were criss-crossed in the way that pouting children do. Her voice was soft, "I do believe that she's in a meeting with Professor Dumbledore."

"How long?" Sergius didn't miss a beat.

"I'm not sure," she shrugged. "Is there something else you'd like to do while you wait? We can play games that I used to play with my parents."

The boy rolled his eyes.

Well. Minerva took that as a challenge. There was no way that this little boy was going to roll his eyes at her and get away with it. She ran her memory on high, thinking of the games that she played as a child. One in particular made perfect sense. "I think we'll go on a safari," she raised an eyebrow. "Stay where you are," she grinned to herself, and then stood up to face the room.

She ran the words through her mind one at a time, her wand pointed at various sets of desks. One by one, the desks grew into floating shrubbery, into tall trees, into the odd tarantula. A few ink bottles became monkeys. Some parchment became birds, the brightly colored kind. The walls seemed to disappear behind the green. The wall with the windows became transparent: all they could see was the rain, no bricks of any kind. The final flourish, of course, was the floor: it bubbled up into mud.

Minerva looked beside herself at the boy whose jaw was ever-so-slightly open. "Maybe this is more your speed?" she raised an eyebrow.

The boy's eyes didn't leave the forest in front of him. "How do we play?"

She grinned gently, "We get out of the room."

"That's easy," his voice rang dismissively. "Just go where the door is."

Of course, that is the obvious answer. He would find out, though. It wasn't that simple. Minerva didn't believe in giving simple questions with simple answers. Everything was more complicated than that. "Well then I'll follow your lead," she whispered gently, "since you know everything."

He looked up at her, detecting her sarcasm, though feeling self-important for the use of it. For a second, he hesitated, but then walked in, his shoe leaving a deep imprint in the mud. Minerva followed, excited for this little adventure. She had never been the parent in safari. It was something completely new for her, just as it was for the ten year-old.

Before them, there was indeed a forest. It wasn't quite real—there wasn't anything that could potentially harm either of them. Were it a real rainforest, Minerva would have put in hundreds of poisonous things. She would have added more animals, too. But this was a test-run, this game.

They peeked through some rather large leaves only to stare at a tree whose branches were so thick that they seemed to form a wall. Sergius looked up at her, eyes wide. "Trees don't really do that."

Minerva shrugged, "You're not really in a rainforest."

He ran in the direction of the tree, nearly tripping over a vine along the way. He poked his head between branches, surveying the likelihood that the two of them could climb _through_ the intertwined arms of the tree. The woman watched with fascination.

"You can make yourself a cat, can't you?" Sergius asked. He thought he was being witty. True, Minerva hadn't made any rules, but if she were anyone else, there would be no hope of changing body type, let alone species.

She shook her head, "I'm off for the day."

The boy shot her a glare, "That's not fair."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "You're trying to cheat. I won't have any cheaters in my classroom"—she grinned gently to herself at that one.

"It's not cheating if you can do it," he retorted.

Her head continued to shake. "I'm not transfiguring myself so you can take the easy way out."

"Why?" Sergius pouted.

The woman inhaled gently. She could recall having the same sort of difficulty when she was in his position: _Why can't you use magic?_ The answer was that it wasn't about getting out. It was about how one did it. Moreover, this was only the first of many potential challenges. "Because the fun in this game is knowing that you made it out by yourself, it's knowing that you were smarter than the game."

After a long pause, the boy nodded. Yes, he understood. He looked at the tree again, then to the right and the left. "Do we have to go over?" he asked gently, unsure of himself.

"We can try that," she claimed gently.

Sergius nodded and stepped on the first branch, then the second. He climbed it like a ladder. Minerva waited at the bottom to make sure that he made it to the top before she joined him: she'd hate for him to fall when the only padding was the mud.

She began climbing as well and met him at the top. They were up in the canopy. Foliage was everywhere. And birds. There were many birds, chirping.

The boy's dark eyes seemed to sparkle as he turned to look at Min. He liked this game. Or maybe he just had a predisposition to like things that fly—he was Cora's child, after all. In any case, he looked happy. "Birds," he said gently.

Minerva nodded her head with a smile. "You won't find those in England."

He gave out a short, tickled laugh as he watched a pair of them play what seemed like a game of tag.

The woman felt her chest warm up at the sight of the boy's happiness. This sort of thing was why she enjoyed teaching. Why she enjoyed children. She loved children.

The chirping of the birds filled the air. Some flew in front of their faces. Blues. Purples. Reds. Yellows. All in a flash, they seemed to go from here to there, from branch to branch. The wonderment in the child's face didn't go away, which perhaps is why Minerva did not force him to press on. They sat there for something that could have either been five minutes or an hour. It didn't matter too much, not after Sergius started playing his own game of tag with the birds.

"Professor McGonagall?" a very confused Cora's voice rang through the classroom.

The woman's head perked up. She crawled over to the edge of the branch and looked in the direction of the door. She couldn't see Cora, of course, which meant that Cora couldn't see her. "Just a minute!" she yelled out into the nothingness.

She turned to look at the boy, whose intrigue in the game had left his face. "Do we have to stop?" he asked sadly.

"Yes," she whispered. "But we'll come back to this," she nodded.

The boy nodded his head.

"We'll have to go back down the way we came," Minerva added gently. "Do you want to go down first?"

"Okay," Sergius bobbed his head. And he disappeared down the edge of the branches.

Minerva peeked down the edge to make sure he had made it down safely before joining him, taking it one rung at a time. When both of their feet were on the ground, she nodded at him and he nodded back. They would come back to it, definitely.

She took out her wand and changed things back in groups this time. All of the birds. The desks. The quills. Everything quickly changed back to the objects they were meant to be. An amused Professor Elvsted stared from the door of Minerva's completely disorganized classroom. From across the room, she called out, "Is it safe? There aren't any pythons left?"

Minerva shook her head with a smile, "It's safe."

With that, Cora walked in the direction of the other two, speaking as she walked. "What on Earth have you two been up to?"

"We were playing safari," Sergius said matter-of-factly. "It's fun."

"Oh really?" Cora looked at Minerva, then back at her son, "And how does one play safari?"

"We make everything into a forest. And then you have to find the door. But you have to get past birds and giant trees and other things like that first."

A smile shifted on Cora's face. "Leave it to Minerva to come up with a game like that."

"My parents used to play it with me," Min added gently. "It was a favorite."

"Well I'm sure it's already among Sergius' favorites," Cora grinned and then she shifted into business, as she does. "He wasn't too much of a handful for you, was he?"

The woman shook her head, "No, not at all. He amused himself for the first ten minutes or so, after that we started playing the game."

"Thank you," Cora nodded.

Minerva shook her head, "I enjoy it."

Cora bobbed her head, understanding on her face. "We'll be sure and find a reason to leave him with you again, then," she smiled kindly.

"I'd like that."

Cora looked down at her son who was looking a mix between impatient and unwilling to leave. "What do you say to Minerva?"

The boy rolled his eyes at his mother and then turned towards Minerva, "Thank you for watching me."

"It was fun," she nodded. "I'll see you soon."

With that, Cora looked at her son, "Shall we go?"

Sergius shrugged, but followed his mother out the door, anyway.

Minerva watched them leave, quite sad to be seeing the boy go. She rather liked him, despite his ever-so-slight attitude problem. It was no surprise that he should act the way he did, though. He had horribly busy parents. They both taught during the school year, of course, but Rudy usually took the summers to travel. Minerva didn't suppose that Cora would go with him on those expeditions, but she typically was a referee for youth quidditch matches throughout the country. Where did that put Sergius? With two part-time parents.

Minerva was glad that Albus agreed to allow Sergius to stay. He belonged at Hogwarts more than he belonged to the muggle schools. Moreover, he belonged with his parents—or with people that would act like parents.

The woman blinked.

She did love children.

From out in the corridor, Minerva could hear her fiancé's voice mingle with that of Cora's. He was on his way to see her. Where else would he be going?

She looked at the clock on the wall: 10:05. She only had about ten minutes before her morning class. Students would be coming in sooner than that. The woman took out her wand and levitated furniture here and there to get her classroom in order. She could feel the presence of her lover as he waited in the doorway, but she didn't turn to face him. "How did it go?" she asked as she switched one desk for another.

"As well as can be expected. Cora did have an interesting idea, though."

"Oh?" she glanced over at the doorway. Albus was clearly amused at what he knew.

"What are your thoughts on a sexual education class?"

Minerva blinked, turning to face her lover straight on. That seemed a bit radical, even for him. She didn't like where this was going. "What do you mean, precisely?"

The man shrugged, as if it was obvious. "They should learn about the birds and the bees, don't you think?"

She stared at him for several seconds before she realized that her mouth was open. She closed it quickly. No. No she did not 'think' that it was the school's position to teach on the subject of sex. "It has never been the school's aim to teach students about the _birds and the bees_, Albus. Why start now?" she blinked. She knew what his argument would be with her—she thought she'd beat him to the topic at hand. "Students have always been hormonal and they will continue to be."

"Precisely," he nodded his head. "Better that they have the knowledge, don't you think?" he raised an eyebrow. That was not a question, she knew. He clearly wanted her to agree. The thing is, she didn't.

Minerva spoke gently while moving her head from side to side, "No."

Albus frowned. "You of all people should agree with me."

She felt that hit her chest in the way that words do. That wasn't kind of him. Hidden between those words was a hint of condescension that he was not entitled to. He took advantage of a hormonal teenager, did he not? The clouds of anger washed over her face and sank down all the way to her toes. Minerva inhaled through her nose and shut her eyes for a little bit more than a blink. Her voice was flat, "Well I don't. It's not the school's position to teach that sort of thing."

"Up until now," he spat back. "I am the Headmaster and I think that this is a good idea."

The woman blinked. She wasn't in a position to fight him, she knew. He was the Headmaster. She was the professor called in to fill his shoes—his rather large shoes made to match his large ego. "You will do whatever you want to do, Albus. Who am I to stop you?" she whispered, a tad of a challenge in her voice.

He shook his head, "Why are you against this?"

"Because I do not think that it is appropriate for us to be teaching students about matters like that," she hissed back, angry for unknown reasons. It occurred to her precisely what she was saying after the words left her mouth. Of course she was commenting on them. She felt sorry almost the second she said it.

Lightning seemed to pass through his eyes before they returned to calm water. He held up a hand as she reached out to beg forgiveness. "We'll come back to this," he nodded his head gently. Students had begun coming in. "You have a class. Thank you for your input, Professor." With that, he turned around to leave.

Minerva put her hand on his shoulder.

Albus turned to face her. There was no anger, though perhaps determination had found its way in. He waited patiently for her to say something.

She shrugged, unsure of what words she should use: "Don't think that this is a reflection on you, Headmaster. Clearly," she sighed, "it has ended well for me."

He nodded his head gently, understanding her meaning. Yes. Clearly they had worked out much better than could have been expected. The man raised a challenging eyebrow, "It does seem a bit hypocritical, doesn't it, Min? To disagree with me on this matter."

Well if he wouldn't play nice, she certainly wouldn't either.

Minerva shook her head in utter disapproval. "Hypocritical?" her eyebrow rose. He did not know everything there was to know about her or her teenage self. Yes, she took advantage of his position while she was a student, but she did not fall for him so he could teach her about sex. As she had told him before, she wanted love, not sex. A fire burned in her eyes as she spoke, insulted, "Contrary to what you may or may not believe, you were not my sole form of education when I was that age. I knew perfectly well what I was doing."

There was a pause before the man nodded. "Good morning, Professor."

Minerva watched as he left, her hand tightly gripping her wand.

She turned around to face her students. They weren't all there, of course, but many of them were. Towards the front, Minerva caught the eye of one student in particular. Kate Landon met eyes with Minerva.

Bloody hell. It wasn't even eleven yet.

The woman inhaled gently with her eyes closed and allowed the anger to leave her system as she exhaled. She opened her eyes and made contact with Miss Landon again. She nodded. The girl nodded back.

Minerva approached her unthreateningly and sat in the chair next to the girl. She took in the look of fear on the girl's face and the red eyes. Of course she hadn't slept. Why would she have? They were like-minded people, Minerva knew. Merlin knows that when she had her first night with Albus, there was no sleep for fear of being found out. Ah, but Kate had been found out.

Empathy filled Minerva's eyes as she leaned in gently, "How are you getting on?"

Kate blinked, her eyes grainy and red, "Fine." The girl was dead inside, closed off. Again, not surprising.

The woman nodded her head slowly. "Kate," she placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, "if you need someone to talk to, I will gladly listen. It's your choice. I just know," she swallowed, drawing on personal experience, "that this is perhaps too much pressure for one person as young as your to take alone."

Tears began filling the girl's eyes.

Minerva bobbed her head gently. She knew. Oh yes, she knew that feeling. "If you need to leave at any point during class today, please just leave. I won't think anything of it. And I'll be sure that your things are looked after."

Kate nodded her head as she bit her lip down.

The woman released her hand from her student's shoulder and slid out of the chair.

She looked at the class, gaining her bearings again. Huffelpuffs and Gryffindors. Fifth years. Of course. Minerva brought her hand up to her head as she processed what was meant to happen in class today. This wasn't the animagus lesson. Rats? No. That was first years. Fifth years? Ratios. Yes, that was it.

Minerva summoned the pendants from the back of the room and watched as they floated gracefully onto each desk.

Her ears perked up as she listened to students chatting as they entered. The big topic of the morning was Huffelpuff's sudden loss of house points. No one had owned up to it, of course. It was a great mystery.

_"I'll bet someone stole something."_

_ "Probably Marlon."_

_ "It doesn't look any different to me. No one set fire."_

_ "Professor Dumbledore…"_

_ "Merriweather wasn't happy."_

_ "He looked like he was going to hex someone."_

_ "It's a conspiracy."_

_ "His office?"_

_ "Nick says students were out of bed."_

_ "One-hundred and twenty points?"_

_ "Out of bed?"_

_ "Dumbledore did it?"_

_ "Two people?"_

_ "That's a bit extreme."_

Minerva blinked, having taken in all of the information. So many rumors. Most of them weren't far off.

She thought carefully about the possibility of Sir Nicholas being the Nick that was mentioned. There very well may have been ghosts around the castle last night. Nicholas wasn't prone to sharing that sort of thing, but if he was asked, he may have given in. Minerva made a mental note to find him later in the day. Merlin knows, the truth didn't need to be known by anyone that wasn't privy to that sort of information.

* * *

><p>Merlin he loved her, but there were days where he felt the impulse to jinx her. Engorging her tongue so she couldn't talk—that would be lovely. Of course that wouldn't stop her angry tone from coming across. He could half hear the yammering. What in the hell did she mean, talking to him like that?<p>

Albus shut his office door behind him, feeling the anger well up inside of him. In the privacy of his own habitat, he saw no reason not to let it out. "Aaaaaaah!" he heard his voice echo throughout the room. His throat screamed for him to stop, but he couldn't until his breath was gone.

He looked down at his clenched fists, feeling the stress radiate throughout his body.

This was not his morning.

The man ran the events of the day through his mind: Thurston, Heads of Houses meeting, and to finally kick his day into chaos, Minerva. He had not expected things to go well with the first two, but he certainly had expected to share an opinion with his fiancée. Instead he was slapped in the face by one event after another. What was he to do?

He thumped his way to his desk in an uncharacteristic manner. If he couldn't win, he was going to make as much noise as humanly possible in order to get it out of his system.

It was manageable, the mountain of work and stress that was piling up on him, but not so long as Minerva was acting the way that she was. He could take the school. He could take the politics. He could even take the bloody wedding plans, but not so long as she was acting like that. What did she mean when she said that he was not her 'sole form of education'? Where had that even come from? No! That's not what he was saying. He was merely trying to point out that she _certainly_ took advantage of his tutelage. There was no denying that. How could she be against that sort of thing? How?

He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop being so angry. He inhaled, then exhaled, then inhaled again. His lids flicked open and he stared at the cluttered desk he had. It wasn't even clean-cluttered, but just plain cluttered, messy even. Albus blinked. He had better sort that out. He was better than that. While he worked well in chaos, this was a bit much.

The parchment felt stale in his hands, awful to the touch, every single piece of paper.

He made four different piles, one at each corner of his desk: research, school, wedding, newspaper. He was thankful that the newspaper pile only had two pages in it: Berthold's wedding and the announcement for the Academy's latest award recipients—that article only came out that morning. Minerva probably didn't even know about it—not that she cared very much at this point, she had only just had her falling out with Berthold. He noted the irony of seeing these two articles together.

The other three piles, they were sizeable. The research pile was just filled with preliminary information, mostly things that he and Minerva had done. He had been toying with the idea of offering to do a project with the woman, but he had since decided that perhaps that would be too much for her. Minerva was plenty preoccupied with other things, marriage and children among those topics. The wedding pile, of course, was currently the largest. The who and the whats and the whens all had to be written down two, three times each. There were charts and written agreements. Merlin, there were even fabric samples next to pictures of flowers. The wedding was certainly in full-swing. Across from the school pile which stacked up neatly, it looked remarkably daunting. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the school pile—except for maybe some written agreements on behalf of Sergius. Everything else was things of the bureaucratic nature.

Albus stepped back and stared at the piles and the collective whole that they seemed to make. They looked almost manageable, now. Four different parts of his life that were unrelated, with the exception of Minerva. She was the link between all of them, all of these compartments which he had created for himself. Maybe that's what was bothering him the most about her response earlier: he was under the impression that they were a unit now. He expected her to agree with him, at least about things as trivial as classes.

A deep exhalation escaped his lungs. He hadn't quite realized that he felt as stressed as he did. He looked up through the window into the gray sky. Still raining—well, drizzling was more like it. The day never promised to be good, anyhow.

* * *

><p>Albus waited patiently outside the door to the transfiguration classroom, listening to the words of his fiancée. It sounded like a second year class, though he didn't peek in to double-check. She was going on about complexity in design. It was a basic lecture. He had always done that lecture in the fall, but she exchanged it for metal-to-metal transfiguration. She was more interested in the details than he had ever been—perhaps that's why she was the animagus in the relationship.<p>

He heard her voice echo through the room: "That's all for today."

She did have a firm command on her classes—that was for sure. The woman was gifted with students, daring them to think of her as an easy challenge. That was one thing she was not and never had been. There was no one like her, even if she did have some strange views of the world.

Albus turned the corner and entered his old classroom. Minerva was towards the front, laughing. Her eyes were particularly green today, he noted. It must have been a good day in class. The color usually got brighter when she was happy—either happy or terribly, terribly sad. Given the laughter, he assumed there was a certain element of joy.

The woman stared at the man as soon as she realized he was there and then said good day to the student in question. She waited for him to come to her, her smile shifting from wide to closed. "Professor Dumbledore," she nodded.

"Professor McGonagall," he nodded back.

"What brings you here?" There was only a twinge of suspicion in her voice; it mostly was just confusion.

He inhaled gently, realizing that the anger did not return to him. Like Minerva, he was simply confused on the whole matter. It made no sense for them to not agree on this. "I would like to continue our discussion from earlier, if that is suitable for you."

She glanced around her classroom, indicating the students' presence. No, it wasn't entirely suitable at this particular point in time. Albus took a seat amongst the desks while Minerva continued to stand. He wondered for a short second how she could stand it, being on her feet all day, but then it occurred to him that she was used to it, whereas he was completely out of practice. That woman never stopped.

"Perhaps you will do me the honor of sitting next to me?" he asked gently.

Minerva seemed only to need to be asked. She nodded and then sat on top of the empty desk, her feet dangling just above the floor. He had the impulse to put his hand over hers, but didn't, once it occurred to him precisely where he was. Force of habit was hard to break.

She nodded at him, having seen him half-make the motion. Her eyes turned towards the door as the last of the students exited. She slid her hand on his gently after the room was clear, though her eyes didn't leave the door until he spoke to her.

"Was it a good day?" he asked softly.

"I think different is a more appropriate word," she bobbed her head slowly. "The whole castle is in disarray because of the house points. No one seems to know what to make of it."

He nodded. "Of course they don't. Somehow I don't think even we know what to make of it, though for different reasons." Albus gauged Minerva's movements closely as she stared down at him. Her mouth twitched ever so slightly and she inhaled heavily. She of course knew where the conversation was heading.

"I don't think we should have that class, Albus," she shook her head slowly. Her voice was calm, sure.

"I know you don't," he nodded, biting his tongue. She was a stubborn woman. Provoking her would only get her angrier, not cause her to change her opinion. "Perhaps you should explain to me why you are of that opinion," he spoke slowly, carefully, "because I clearly have misunderstood your interpretation of what is happening."

This surprised her. She was ready for a fight, not for this. Physically, the woman shifted back, her spine growing straight, then relaxing again. "I don't believe that it is the school's position to 'teach' about sex. It is an infringement on the student's desires as well as their parents'."

Albus nodded, taking in this information. He shrugged and for argument's sake said, "What about those students that want to learn?" The man paused, knowing the direct application that statement had to the woman, whether or not she cared to admit it. "They're all privy to having hormonal desires. Perhaps it would be best for them to learn where those desires come from and healthy ways to deal with them."

"And you suppose that this knowledge will stop them from meeting in secret after hours?" she raised a challenging eyebrow.

"No," he shook his head. "That would be naïve of me," he admitted. "I do suppose that it would keep them from making"—he cringed mentally as the words came out of his mouth, knowing damn well what sort of response was to be had—"detrimental decisions."

True to form, her eyes grew wide and her nostrils began to flare. She pulled her hand off of his. "Detrimental decisions like sex?" her voice was high—never a good sign, it only went high when she couldn't control it.

He held up his hand as a means of signaling her to stay calm, "This isn't about you, Minerva. This is about them. Things are changing out in the world. They're becoming more and more interested in sex."

She blinked, anger written over her face, "First of all, _Albus_," she hissed, "you cannot tell me that you had no interest in sex as a teenager. I realize that you are a prodigy in your own right," she nodded her head violently, "but sex is not something that was just invented. Second of all, you are insulting their intelligence by suggesting that they'll make _detrimental decisions_ as you call them. For Merlin's sake, they're not children by the time they are sexually active," she threw her arms up in the air and hopped down from the desk. She leaned down, her body radiating effrontery. "The fact that they have to sneak around should be evidence enough for everyone that they shouldn't be doing it. And if they are," she shrieked, "then perhaps they know something that the rest of us don't."

"This is not about you," he shook his head, anger rising at a rapid pace. Albus stood up only to tower over the woman. "Not all students claim to have some innate logic behind what they do. _Most _of them," he growled, "just do what their instincts tell them, which, I'm sorry to say, means sex with whoever is interested."

Her voice came back menacingly, "And I'm sure you're drawing on personal experience?"

Absolutely not. He had always had sense. With the exception of Minerva, he had always been careful with who and where. "No," he shook his head, realizing how angry the two of them were. He stepped back mentally and spoke gently, "but I have been teaching here for quite a long time. Experience tells me that this is true."

A pause set in on them. The woman's eyes shot daggers at him and then left his face. She walked over to her desk and then looked up. She shook her head gently. Apparently she had decided to give up, for she inhaled gently and shrugged, "No matter what I say, you're not going to change your mind."

Albus nodded in acquiescence, "You're right. I don't suppose you'll change your mind, either?"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't feel comfortable discussing these sorts of things with students."

He blinked. His intention was not to start up the fire again, but if she could take things personally, he certainly could as well. "And you suppose I do?"

Her lips puckered in thought. "I wouldn't think that you make a habit of talking about sex with your students."

That was better than the inverse response, he decided. There was certainly an amount of accusation there, but if anyone could say such a thing, it would be Minerva. Moreover, there was more to this saga. Where would she be without her sexual education, he pondered. "Part of you has to realize, Minerva, that my influence is what led you to research your topic of choice. Need I remind you what that is?"

The woman stared at him, silent.

"Sex," he nodded his head. "Or do you care to argue that sex and reproduction aren't the same thing?"

That had been a bit harsh, he admitted to himself. He was bullying her. He didn't mean to do that. But she was wrong. The woman was very, very wrong, and she owed everything she was to him and their controversial relationship while she was a student. It made no sense for her to be against what obviously aided her development. She was wrong.

Albus watched as her chest expanded and contracted multiple times. Her narrowed eyes did not leave him. "No," she shook her head, "Now get out of my classroom before I say something I'll regret."

The man didn't move—not because he was intentionally angering her, but rather, because the gravity of what he said set in on him. Boy, was he sorry. He wasn't just attacking her, he was being completely unfeeling. "Min," he shook his head gently, "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to say."

"Well you said it," was her brusque response.

His stomach dropped as she began fiddling with the papers on her desk, her eyes failing to meet his. Avoidance; she was gifted at it. Against his better instincts, Albus approached the woman and put a hand on her shoulder from behind. She stopped fiddling. But she didn't become stiff, like he would have thought. The woman melted under his touch, as if she was going to collapse at any second. Minerva went a mile-a-minute and never stopped, not unless he forced her to.

He wrapped his arms around her when he saw that there would be no struggle on the path to forgiveness. He kissed her neck gently and whispered softly into her ear, "That was uncalled for. I've had a bad day and I'm taking it out on you. I'm sorry," he squeezed her tightly to him. If there was one thing that Minerva didn't talk about, it was that very topic. He was sorry for bringing it up, ever so sorry. "I know you're struggling to reconcile your work."

She nodded gently and used her hands to pull him closer to her. She was off in her own world, now. "Sergius asked me to transfigure myself today," she whispered, "I didn't do it."

The man nodded. He didn't know what to say to that. He said the first positive thing he could think of: "It's early yet," he sighed.

Minerva nodded.

A painful silence filled the air. Through it came the woman's voice: "I'll teach a class if you want me to."

To hell with the class. That's not what he was after now. It didn't seem to matter anymore whether or not she agreed with him on the topic. He had set a dark cloud on the woman and that was not what he wanted to do, ever. He had no intention of bringing her down. "You don't have to."

"No, I do," she sighed. "You want me to."

He rolled his eyes. Did she ever do what he wanted her to? The second she managed to change his mind, he managed to change hers. Damn it, he just couldn't win. "We'll talk about this later, Min, when one or both of us don't care anymore."

She turned around in his arms to face him. Her green eyes were ridiculously large. "I don't know why I'm so insistent on fighting you."

Albus shrugged, "I didn't have to fight you back." It was the truth. He still thought she was wrong, but why fight a woman who is as stubborn as he? It did nothing but raise tempers and long-standing anger. "It's been a long day," he sighed.

"Has Thurston begun his wrath?" the woman asked in an effort to lighten the mood.

A soft smile fell on his lips, "No." A thought occurred to him as he processed what she had said to him only seconds beforehand. "You watched Sergius today?"

She nodded. "We played safari."

"Safari?"

"Yes," Min claimed gently. "Maybe we'll play sometime. It's something you have to experience."

Albus nodded. He didn't doubt that.

In a surprise move, she wrapped her arms tighter around him and buried her face in his chest, pressing her body against him. He enjoyed her warm breath as it seeped through his clothing and penetrated his skin—this wasn't like her, to show affection in such a public place at such an hour. Minerva cared about propriety. Albus returned the gesture, pulling her closer to him.

Her fingers clenched against his shoulder blades, digging in. He exhaled as a wave of relaxation seduced the tension. Albus smiled gently and closed his eyes, inhaling her scent of lavender soap. "I like this," he sighed softly as his fingers traced up to the nape of her neck where her bun sat. His digits sank in between the knot and her head—she couldn't know how much he liked the feel of her hair between his fingers.

Minerva inhaled, melting just a bit more into him. "I like it too," she whispered into the air. She leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, "Albus, when was the last time we made love?"

It was an innocent question, but one which caught him off guard. He blinked. She didn't ask questions like that. "Not since the start of March," he shrugged.

She nodded her head gently, "Perhaps we should strive to fix that statistic tonight," she smiled softly. "I'd hate to think that we're at a point where we need to plan these things, but if it is necessary," she shrugged, perhaps not daring to continue. "I have something new to show you," Minerva stared up at him innocently.

Well that was surprising. Minerva didn't do things like that, she didn't buy things to _show_ him—she generally preferred to be doted on. Or rather, she knew that he liked to dote on her. Albus' ears and eyes perked up at the thought of an evening of sex.

Minerva caught on to this, for her lips shifted into a knowing smile. "I bought it last weekend when I went to London with Mum. She thought it would be a good idea, not that I care to discuss why my mother was the one prompting this sort of thing," she grinned.

Albus cleared his throat before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. "Have I told you how brilliant I think your parents are?"

She giggled. "So I'll take it that means you are acquiescent to my request?"

"Oh yes," he nodded gently. "Very much so. Why wait until tonight?" he shrugged playfully. "Let's head to the room right now. Dinner isn't for a few hours and my schedule is open for the rest of the night."

Her eyes danced playfully as she shook her head slowly, "Work now, fun later."

Ah, so that was the game she was playing. "Work? What sort of work?"

"I didn't finish grading last night, if you'll recall," she nodded. "And I know you have your own things to do. If I'm not mistaken, you are looking to add a class to the school's curriculum," she raised an eyebrow.

The man inhaled, accepting her suggestion. He could work if there was hope in the near future. Moreover, the discussion appeared to have ended on the new class. He wasn't about to fight her, now when she was so willing to let it lie. Albus nodded his head, "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"Yes," she smiled softly. "We'll have a nice meal and then perhaps a bottle of wine in our chambers. It will be…_nice_," Minerva winked.

He wasn't about to argue. It was only a Monday, but he certainly wasn't going to argue with that. They were adults. They deserved some time together. In any case, he reminded himself, Minerva was extra-fun when she drank wine. He had no problem with looking forward to a good night with her. They were going to be married, after all. Three months. In three months, they would be married and they would each be with the person that they had always wanted.

Albus took a second to stare at her lovely face, to consciously stare at it. His hand came over to cradle her chin, his fingers touching her high cheekbones. His thumb shifted lightly over her lips. While there were times when he wanted to jinx her for her stubbornness and ignorance, there were other times when he reminded himself that he loved her for all of that. He needed a wife who was strong in spirit. Moreover, he needed a lover who was ignorant of all of the things that could be said of him and their relationship. She readily filled all of those roles.

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><p>Please Review. I know there are some of you out there who really enjoy hearing the thoughts of Albus-I hope this chapter was to your liking.<p>

Thanks all!


	15. Forgiveness

I hope this is a satisfactory response to all of the reviews. Many of you seemed to have lots to say.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Forgiveness<strong>

_Dear Minerva,_

_ Words cannot describe how mortified I am over my behavior at the wedding. I would make up some excuse, but I have only myself to blame. Please accept my apology. I return from my holiday with Aggie on the twenty-fourth. As a means of apology, the two of us would like to take you and Albus out for a meal. Please consider it. I'll owl you on the details when I am able._

_Sincerely,_

_Berthold_

Minerva stared at the letter in her hands, still surprised that she received such a thing at all. Berthold, she would have thought, was too proud to put something like that in writing. He placed nothing on paper that he didn't want hundreds of people to see. Moreover, there was not an ounce of humility in his person.

She pursed her lips together.

Maybe it was Aggie's doing, this letter. Oh, the writing was certainly Bert's, but Agnes must have coaxed the man into writing it—or perhaps she was an excellent mimic of his penmanship. Either way, Minerva was convinced that there was no chance in a fiery hell that Berthold did it on his own.

A sigh escaped the woman as she placed it back on her desk next to the guest list. Her eyes ran over the succession of names: nearly all of them were familiar to her, though there were few that she actually knew the person associated. Most were ministry officials, although some were more involved with academia—including the headmasters of the other wizarding schools in Europe. Of course Albus knew all of them.

The only people missing were reporters. Minerva wondered to herself how long they really could keep this away from them. She imagined that the awful Daily Prophet editor had been paid off to keep quiet, but she was still skeptical. Six months without any sort of scandal. It was only a matter of time, she sighed, before they felt the need to do some more snooping. In any case, Minerva half-expected some guest or other to let it slip accidentally. She never wanted so many people to attend, but she gave up on that battle in favor of winning others.

She reflected on this thought gently to herself. Yes, she had won some battles. After all, Aberforth was coming. That was exciting. Albus had gone to him last weekend and gave him the invitation. He said yes.

It wasn't so much that Minerva insisted that Albus' brother show up as it was that they had some sort of equitable relationship. Knowing that Aberforth was coming made Minerva feel better about marrying into such a mysterious family. How could it not? The way that Albus talked about his brother had always made her feel uncomfortable. Maybe that would never change. She didn't suppose that the years of hatred or disgust helped anyone get over their issues. But she was glad that Aberforth was coming—apparently their relationship was not so strange that they couldn't act like brothers for a day.

A contented sigh escaped her lips.

Her eyes darted back to Berthold's letter, then the open book to its left. At the top of the page read: _The Mind of the Animagus: Regenerating our Approach, by Berthold Rhytherton. _Minerva pursed her lips together as she scanned the acknowledgements, her name among them, followed by the article itself. He had to thank them, of course, because without her and her fellow animagi, he could never have done what he did. Berthold _was_ brilliant, but he rarely thought of ideas on his own regarding his work. After all, he was not an animagus. Minerva knew that he owed her a certain amount of credit beyond her use in his lab: he would never have thought to consider regeneration if it wasn't for her work.

The woman groaned as she fought with herself with a glimpse of the page: she wanted desperately to teach an animagus unit, but she was unsure of how to approach it. It would not do at all for her to simply tell them how it's done—they could get that out of any book if they were interested. No, she had to have them read things beyond the textbook. Berthold's work was among that, so was her own along with Albus'.

She flipped a chunk of pages backward to look at her lover's article in the volume: _The Regenerating Body, by Albus Dumbledore_. What a brilliant find it was, too. The way he explained the build up and the deterioration, the change in speed, the re-growth—it was all just absolutely brilliant of him to have caught on to something like that. Of course the idea came to him after a mishap with a student, which he mentioned in the opening. Minerva wondered why it was that students wanted to transfigure their pets, but ultimately, it seemed to have been a good turn of luck that the owl's feathers eventually grew to the right length again.

Her eyes drifted over the words and the diagrams that Albus presented for the world in a semi-passive manner. She had no reason to read this article yet again. Minerva could probably take a stab at repeating the whole thing and not be too far off from what it really said. She had poured over it many times.

Her eyes skipped completely over the references as she looked at the page to the right: _The Sexual Implications of Shape-Shifting, by Minerva McGonagall._ She inhaled and exhaled with consciousness. She hated the title. It was necessary to use it, though, or else it may not have been read. People were always interested in sex, at least the word. It was taboo, therefore they devoured it. Moreover, it was pertinent.

She blinked gently.

Yes, she would have the seventh years read all of these articles. They should learn about it all. It was, after all, new and upcoming. In any case, if they wanted careers that involved transfiguring live organisms, this information was necessary—at least Minerva thought of it as necessary. Between the information supplied by the three of them (Albus, Berthold and herself), all the students would be able to make better decisions in the future.

Minerva gave a confident nod to herself.

"Professor McGonagall?" a deep (though quiet) voice came from the front of the room, through the cracked door. It was a voice that she didn't quite recognize as a whisper, though it sounded vaguely familiar.

She blinked. "Come in."

The woman tried hard to hide the shock as Huffelpuff's keeper entered her office, a place which he certainly had never been to before. Perhaps he had come to beg for forgiveness. He had combed his hair, she noted. "Mr. Jenkins," her voice came out smoothly, skeptically.

The boy cleared his throat. Minerva took careful notice of the knick just under his chin; he apparently decided to shave as well. His handsome face looked well-rested, which caused something akin to alarm for Minerva. Orin's brown eyes met Minerva's. "I think I owe you an apology," his voice was devoid of emotion. "It was my fault that we were in your classroom the other night."

She couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong with what she was seeing in the boy, but it made her stomach turn ever so slightly. "I fail to see why it was that you were out at all," she raised an eyebrow, consciously sliding the journal over Berthold's letter and the guest list. She could come back to all of that.

Orin cleared his throat again, slightly more uncomfortable.

"Have a seat," she said as kindly as she could.

He did, but he didn't bother to sit up straight. He leaned over as if he was willing to have a hunched back as a young man. That wasn't humility; that was laziness. "I am sorry," he said.

The woman inhaled deeply, knowing that he wasn't. He was just sorry that they got caught. "Apology accepted," she heard her voice say, though she was being as fake as he was. "Perhaps you would like to explain," she prompted.

He shrugged. "We were snogging."

Minerva's eyes narrowed. "At three in the morning? In my classroom? You've already said that it was your doing. My question is why?"

"I thought it would be adventurous."

Smug little bastard. Would that she could give him a potion to tell the truth. She couldn't keep it in; she knew her suspicions were correct, given the way that he was acting. "My intuition, Mr. Jenkins, is that this is not the first time you have done something like this. Am I wrong?"

No response.

She blinked. It figured as much. Kate wasn't the only girl he had been snogging recently—that much was known. "Mr. Jenkins," she added gently, "there are those of us on the staff who know perfectly well what goes on between you students. We turn a blind eye and allow you to make your own mistakes. I want you to be aware that you are being," she paused to find the words, "fiercely protected." That landed on him. The smug little expression on his face disappeared in a sea of worry. "Why were you in my classroom at three in the morning with a girl?" she asked a little less nicely.

Orin blinked before responding in the same smug manner as earlier, "You know my Uncle works at the Daily Prophet." His arms folded against his chest, as if to say 'ha!' to the woman.

A smile curled on her lips. Yes, she knew that. "That sounds remarkably close to a threat, Mr. Jenkins."

"Oh no Professor," he shook his head unconvincingly and then sat up.

"Sit down," she breathed. There were plenty of things that she could say to him, plenty of things, including her opinion of him, Kate, or the Daily Prophet. None of them would be appropriate. She had learned the importance of being absolutely sure her words could not be misconstrued, especially when the opportunity to publish was there. The woman inhaled gently as she stared with narrowed eyes across her desk. "I know you to be a very capable and intelligent student. You can make better choices. Please attempt to do so in the future."

The boy nodded his head slowly. "I will."

There was nothing else to say, she knew, that would be at all appropriate. She could speak with him only about him. There was no room to discuss Kate and he clearly would not tell her what she wanted to know while she lacked the power to coerce him. She had only to nod and allow him to leave. "You may go if you wish," she said quickly.

With that, the boy slid out his chair and walked towards the door. He stopped before he left, however, and turned around. "I'm sorry if I was out of line," he sighed. Perhaps that was the first genuine thing he had said during the entire encounter.

She blinked gently, her tough demeanor melting, "Apology accepted," she nodded and then swallowed. "Good luck in the quidditch match this weekend."

Orin nodded with a small smile and exited.

The woman inhaled and exhaled slowly, suddenly aware of the speed at which her heart was pounding in her chest. Consciously, she drew deeper, more controlled breaths while she closed her eyes, running that conversation through her head. He was a good boy, Orin, but he had recently realized that he was attractive—and he was willing to take advantage. There was nothing Minerva hated more than boys who played with girls' hearts. Perhaps he was too young to realize what a kiss could mean to a female. Minerva didn't suppose that that was a lesson that many men learned until well after Hogwarts.

With a gentle exhalation, she opened her eyes and glanced down at her desk.

_The Sexual Implications of Shape-Shifting, by Minerva McGonagall_; yes, there was a topic. It was Albus' doing, she noted gently to herself, that she chose the topic that she did. He was not wrong about that. There was a reason that her interests diverged from visual regeneration to microscopic: Albus Dumbledore. He was responsible for her interest in animagi as well as sex. It was natural to pair them as both a subtle tribute and vilification of his actions. What better way to make him see what he had lost than by out-performing him in research?

That's why he came to her, why he sought her out again. The man admitted that he had been following her research after she left the school, but it was clearly that paper which led him to ask her to take over after he became Headmaster. Maybe that's what Minerva savored the most in their relationship: she made him win her over. Perhaps it was narcissistic of her, but she loved knowing that he brought himself to such a humble state for her. It wasn't that she thought of herself as 'winning', it was that for those moments, she was more important than he was.

A blush crept on her face as she ran last night through her mind. Of course they talked about that class and about them, but not until she used sex to her advantage. Albus was brilliant, but he was still a man. Moreover, her age and vitality _were_ in her favor. A gentle smile crossed her lips as she recalled his heavy breathing and his gentle laugh that seemed to only follow orgasm. He was good at what he did, but in this realm, Minerva knew that she was better, if not for anything except for her age and willingness to please.

She had no qualms when it came to using sex to control the man—sometimes there just wasn't another way.

Minerva grinned at her own cunning. He wasn't going to have that class, not after last night's conversation. While he was talented at presenting his argument, she had the energy to fight him. Moreover, her argument was much better prepared than it had been. Her grin shifted into a full-length smile.

_"You know my parents and you certainly knew me while I was a student. How do you suppose they would have reacted? My father would have stormed down here, talking about how his girl did not need exposure to that sort of thing with my mother waving her arms madly behind him. They would have been livid."_

_ "I would have thought that your parents would be more enlightened than that."_

_ "Albus, no one wants to acknowledge that their children are of an age for that sort of thing, moreover they don't want to even begin to think that their children could have children of their own."_

_ "But don't you suppose that's ignorant of them? Their children are of age and will make decisions that could lead down that path."_

_ "Yes, but where do they get the idea? Do you suppose that they just know what to do? I had no idea what the male anatomy looked like before my fifth year and the only reason I knew after that was because of my studies."_

_ "What were **you** reading?"_

_ "Don't look at me like that. There were drawings in our werewolf unit."_

_ "You mean to tell me that you didn't know how it worked until you were fifteen?"_

_ "Sixteen. I had no idea whatsoever and didn't honestly care much, either."_

_ "Huh."_

_ "What?"_

_ "You didn't want to know?"_

_ "Albus, I always assumed that I would learn. I saw no reason to rush it."_

_ "What about pleasuring yourself?"_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "Did you not pleasure yourself? Did you not figure it out for yourself?"_

_ "This may be hard for you to believe, Professor, but it wasn't a thought I ever had. It wasn't that I wasn't interested. I just never thought about it. Whenever I felt like being sexual, I sort of lived it out in my mind, as far as I could think it would go."_

_ "Wait, wait, wait. So you never—"_

_ "No. Not while I was a student."_

_ "Is it like that for all girls?"_

_ "I can't speak for all girls, Love. But that's the way it was for me. My sexual education came with experience."_

_ "Which of course is why you're against this class."_

_ "It's more than that. I don't believe that parents will take too kindly to it. You don't want to take on more confrontation than you already have. It isn't worth it."_

_ "You don't think so?"_

_ "No. Why ask for angry parents along with the press and the staff and whatever else it is that you have occurring with the ministry? Why? Brilliant as you are, surely you're smart enough to realize that there is no need to bring that upon yourself."_

_ "So what do you suggest we do about Kate and Orin?"_

_ "You've already dealt with it. There is nothing to do except hope that it doesn't happen again. And if it does, then the consequences will be worse—or at least should be worse."_

_ "Yes. Yes, I suppose so."_

Minerva breathed in deeply. He hadn't officially told her that she won, that he had changed his mind, but she hoped that she had been as effective as she wanted to be. She did everything right. He was tired both mentally and physically, whereas she was sharp of mind. Surely after an evening of rest, he had decided to side with her. After all, he _was_ intelligent and his ego wouldn't keep him from doing the right thing.

He usually did the right thing, Minerva pondered.

Albus was reasonable—except when he wanted to win. When he wanted to win, he was capable of saying some painful things. She hadn't forgotten his use of tactic yesterday. While it was true that he spurned her interests by playing a sexual partner, he assumed too much. In reality, her research, at least initially, was her personal way of saying 'go to hell, Albus Dumbledore'. Which of course was where the irony rested: he gravitated towards her the second she proved herself.

The fact of the matter is that without her, he would have nothing to fight for. Yes, there was the school and research, but they were all empty. What did they give back? Albus had conquered the world of academia, but he would have to fight each and every day to keep her and her love. That was the reality of it.

She blinked gently to herself.

Every couple had good days and bad days. Yesterday was mostly bad—it ended well, but it really couldn't have been worse during the day. He did say some things. Some horrible things. While she could write it off and acknowledge that he could (and would) say whatever he needed to say in order to win, she couldn't help but wonder where the thought had ever come from. Yes, he was quite responsible for her work, but she wasn't a race horse that he had raised and trained. While it was flattering that her success drew him to her, she also couldn't help but wonder how much ownership he really took over her accomplishments. Maybe she was a trophy to him.

* * *

><p>Early spring and there were only a few flowers to choose from, but that hardly mattered. The crocus seemed to have started its season of bloom, at least enough to make a minor bouquet. The sun had finally come.<p>

"I know you're the type to do this sort of thing, but I sure as Merlin am not. You don't think Cora will be suspicious?"

"So what if she is?" Albus turned away from a particularly lovely purple crocus to look at Rudolph Tate who looked apprehensive. "Are you up to something?"

Rudy made an exaggerated shrug, "Besides begging for forgiveness in general, no."

Albus gave out a laugh. "Earn yourself her good graces. It will help you in the future. While I admit that Minerva has quite a temper, I would hate to be in your shoes. Cora is downright mean when she's in a confrontation."

"I live with her—you don't think I know that?"

They both chuckled at that while their eyes looked back down at the plants that they had to choose from. It wasn't often, really, that the two of them had the opportunity to chat about life. Usually it was just business. Ah, but it was Albus' good luck to run into Rudolph on his way down from the castle to the greenhouses. They were now on missions—well, Albus was on a mission, Rudy was semi-committed.

"So what did you do that you need to ask for forgiveness?" Rudolph raised an eyebrow.

Albus cut himself one or two flowers before looking up at the man who didn't bother to feign a lack interest: his eyes were on the Headmaster. He shrugged, "I said some cruel things to Min yesterday. I couldn't bring myself to apologize, I was so embarrassed."

"Give you the cold shoulder, did she?"

"No," Albus shook his head, still ever so confused at the way last night turned out. "Quite the opposite. She couldn't keep her hands off me."

Rudy shook his head with an open mouth. Clearly, he was jealous on some level—either that, or in shock. "I don't understand. What did you say to her?"

Albus' stomach dropped a level as he recalled it with embarrassment. "Well my first mistake was calling her a hypocrite for being against the sexual education class—she didn't like that," he looked down at the flowers and continued walking along the row of bulbs. "My second mistake was telling her that she owed me credit for her work," the man shook his head, downright ashamed. "Merlin, I say such awful things sometimes."

"And she forgave you just like that _and_ enjoyed your company?"

"She did," Albus sighed semi-passively. It wasn't that she forgave him—of all the things that gave him reason to love her, the thing he placed above all the others was her ability to forgive. What surprised him was that there was no mention of it. He knew that he had offended her, but she said nothing, which was very un-Minerva-like. "But in the meantime she's left me to think about all the stupid things I said to her. I'm torturing myself and she's left me no in to fix it."

Albus snipped three of the yellow croci, outwardly showing his frustration.

Across the way, Rudy took it upon himself to cut several flowers of his own. He didn't stop talking, of course, to do this. "Not that I want to step on your toes, Albus, but I know that at least with Cora, when she stops telling me when I'm doing stupid things, I'm in deep trouble."

The Headmaster looked up, "Trouble?"

Rudy nodded gently, "Yes. Seems to me that when Cora gets quiet—which we both know she is not—she's lost interest. She threatened to divorce me not long after Sergius was born, said that I wasn't invested in them or some nonsense like that. Of course you and Minerva seem to still be hot and heavy, so I don't know if I'm the best person to chat with."

His scissors rested on the top of a crocus while his mouth fell just a little bit lower. He reflected on the evening before, on her willingness to let it all go and make love to him. Maybe that was more cause for alarm than he thought. In any case, she was ready for it—she even bought a nightgown for his amusement. That wasn't like her, either. A wave of panic washed over Albus and it showed.

"Are you alright?" Rudy asked gently.

Albus shook his head slowly, "I'm very alarmed right now."

"Don't be. Don't listen to me, I'm just babbling."

"No," the Headmaster began cutting the flowers, his vision zeroed in on the stems and the perfect petals. "I think you might be right."

In the background, Albus could hear Rudy's cutting of the flowers. "She loves you, you know that."

True as that might be, Albus had a terrible string of flashbacks to December, then to spring of her seventh year, and then to November of her seventh year. Whether it was him or her, he knew that she loved him for all of those moments. Two of the three events included Min shutting him down. "I think I might be sick," Albus took in a deep breath of the flowery air, which didn't help. The pollen suddenly seemed to flood down his throat and into his stomach.

Rudy must have seen the look on his boss' face, for he was over in a flash, putting his arm on the Headmaster's shoulder. "Breathe, man, breathe."

Albus did so. Merlin, why did he say those things yesterday? It was just a class. Just a stupid class. And what in the hell did he do by not eating lunch in the Great Hall? He surely missed an opportunity to eat with Minerva. On the bright side he had come to get her flowers. That was good of him.

"There you go, that's right. My goodness, I've never seen you so on edge."

The man took in a deep inhalation and then it out slowly. "I'm fine, really."

Rudolph shook his head. "You don't look fine to me."

"I am," Albus nodded and put his hand on his hips to get his bearings. He ran it all through his head again and again. The day was not good for him. The man processed the look on Min's face when he said that awful line about sex and reproduction. He was proud of her, damn it, and he had to throw it in her face.

Minerva had to deal with the reality of her research more than he ever would. What if her results weren't inconclusive? What if after further testing, there really was no way to reconcile the problem? What could have possessed him to say what he said? Merlin. In retrospect, it wasn't surprising that she would turn to sex as an outlet. There was no way to know anything without sex.

His eyes worry-ridden, Albus looked at Rudy. "I need to find her."

Rudolph placed his arms on Albus and faced him directly. "Albus." Rudy squeezed his arms tighter to get the man to stand still. "You look like you've gone insane. Stay still. Breathe. She won't want to make nice if you've gone nutters on her."

Albus nodded his head, trusting the man more than he trusted himself at the moment. "Why would I say those things to her?"

"Because we all say stupid things when we're angry."

"Yes," he blinked. Albus stared into the eyes of the Ancient Runes Professor, growing ever so slightly less fanatical. Rudy looked worried. Why shouldn't he? "How do I make this better?"

Rudy's grip lessened and he stepped back from the Headmaster. He shrugged, "Flowers. Maybe something else, if you think it will help."

Albus bobbed his head slowly as his brain raced. He could do that.

* * *

><p>With a sigh, Minerva slid her office chair out from behind her and collected the appropriate transfiguration textbook. First years, thank Merlin. Her tired mind couldn't handle any of the upper levels, not today. The woman was drowning in a sea of paperwork, not to mention wedding plans.<p>

Her walk was slow which, she noted, was against her normal habit. Maybe she just wanted to enjoy the sunshine that was flooding in through the castle. Or, perhaps ever so slightly more applicably, she was exhausted and had no energy to hurry for no reason. Either way, her stroll to her classroom was pleasant. As fate would have it, the entry through the threshold was no less enjoyable.

Her lips twitched, trying to avoid the smile that wanted so badly to cover her face as she looked across the room at her desk. They were just flowers, just a simple bouquet, but it was the gesture that meant something to her. She approached her desk and picked up the card embedded within the purple and yellow petals:

_Sometimes I need to step back and realize how lucky I really am. You are brilliant and would be without me. I picked these for you, because I don't believe that "sorry" is enough._

_-A_

She took in a breath, inhaling the sweet perfume of the flowers. They were lovely on their own, but she allowed the card's words to hit her. Apparently he hadn't forgotten their conversation either—not that she expected him to. She was glad of it, though. He didn't do things like this anymore, not since she came to the school. That year where she was in London and he was at the school seemed like an eternity ago, an eternity filled with flowers and laughter. It didn't seem to matter so much back then who taught who or who used who: they simply were happy to be together, she remembered.

Her finger covered her lips as she stepped back for a moment.

When had their past become such a large part of who they were? They had agreed, once, to let it be forgotten. They both said and did things that hurt the other one. Surely they had moved on from that sort of behavior. What was it that made her blame him for all of that pain she brought upon herself in her seventh year? What was it in him that wanted to take the credit for her success? Minerva never meant it. Albus couldn't mean it, either. Still, there was something to be said as to why this argument kept returning.

She looked at the card, read the words carefully, and then looked up at her class. There was no doubt that the students knew who the flowers were from, but Minerva hardly cared at the moment. The woman was overwhelmed with the scent of the blossoms—at least that's what she told herself when her eyes welled up.

* * *

><p>"Albus?" a soft voice fluttered through the air as the door to his office opened. The man looked up in anticipation as Minerva McGonagall approached him.<p>

"Min," he smiled gently, afraid that he would misinterpret her slow movements for something that they were not. "Come on in."

Her voice came in stronger, after she saw that they were the only two in the room besides the paintings. It was not uncommon at all for him to have a student or board member in there at different times of the day. His schedule was empty today, however—that rarely happened. "The flowers are lovely," she smiled gently.

Albus sat up from his chair and walked around his desk. She went right into his arms, wrapping her own around his back. He squeezed her in return, unsure of what precisely was happening, though happy to be holding her.

This moment, he acknowledged, was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if whatever semblance of a fight that they were having had no substance. There had been no yelling or wand waving. They had even had sex. Somehow things hadn't seemed right before, even if they appeared to be normal. As he held her, it occurred to him that he hadn't seen her since she left early for breakfast.

When she released him seconds later, her eyes were as green as they ever were and her smile just as bright. Happy, that's what she looked like.

A relieved grin fell on his face, "I'm glad you liked them. You got the card?" he raised an eyebrow.

The woman nodded gently, "You made me tear up in front of half the first years."

He shrugged with a playful chuckle, "It was the soonest I could get them to you."

She smiled. "You couldn't just give them to me in person?"

"No," he shook his head. He cared much less about her immediate response about them than he did about the one after she processed. It wasn't that he expected it to take a long time to land on her (Merlin knows she was as smart as a whip), it was that he wanted her to be sure that she accepted. "I'm not that sort of bloke," he shrugged.

"I didn't think so," she smiled with pink lips. "You prefer the element of surprise."

Impulsively, Albus brought a hand to her slightly rosy cheek, which she sunk into like the feline that she was (occasionally). She was perfect, really. "I prefer to do that which I believe will work in my favor," he said gently. "I _do_ feel horrible for what I said. I didn't sleep well last night because of it." He paused and processed. "I was too embarrassed to say anything."

Her hand slid over his, but he didn't bother to react to her cold fingers—he was used to it. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, serious. "When did all of that suddenly become important again? Us—however long ago that was? We haven't always fought over it."

The man blinked. On the bright side, Minerva was back to her normal self—at least she was being direct like her normal self.

"September?" she prompted gently.

He nodded without hesitation. "I think that would be right."

A knowing silence drifted over them. That article did things to them that he never could have anticipated. It wasn't that their personal lives were flaunted in front of the entire wizarding world. It wasn't even that they had to fight the press. It was that they called into question the very nature of their relationship. Minerva was right. Somehow it had never mattered before that they were starting over again. "Why?" he asked gently. Of course she knew the answer just as he did.

"We're embarrassed by it," she whispered.

"Yes," he swallowed. "On many levels, I would think."

The woman bobbed her head gently. "Do you want to have this conversation now?"

Again, there was no hesitation. "I do."

Minerva inhaled deeply and moved to the edge of his desk, where she promptly sat. Rather than taking his own seat behind the desk, he chose to take the chair of the visitor to his office. She was higher than he was, but this was only a minor detail. What he was most interested in was her posture. He had had these moments before where he likened her to a cat, but he had never quite noticed how round her spine became when she put posture in the back of her mind. Her eyes stared into his, unreserved and wide. "I have a question for you, if you don't mind," she whispered.

The way she said it gave him reason to worry. She did not want to ask this question, but had given much thought to it. "Feel free," he sighed.

She cleared her throat first. Somehow she managed to stare at him the entire time she spoke, which was a feat he could not quite manage. "Albus…did you…love me, then? I don't mean to sound ignorant, but sometimes you say things that are hurtful," she nodded gently, obviously referring to his comments from earlier. "I can't help but question it, sometimes. Albus, you didn't fight for me," her head shook from side to side gently. "What sort of message does that send me when we're happy and in love one day and then the next day I'm never to kiss you again? More than that," she shrugged and pressed on gently, "I'm not given an explanation. There are days, Albus, where part of me feels…used."

He blinked, feeling his throat clench ever so gently. Minerva was many things to him, but he never would "use" her, never. "I love you," he shook his head softly. There was no other way to say it. "I have always loved you, and placed your love above anything else I have ever felt. Ever." That was the truth of it. Perhaps it was a bit over the top, that's how he felt. He knew that was the truth. "I regretted it from the second that I ended it, Min. Neither one of us was happy that year, I promise you." He stopped and processed. Perhaps he would tell her someday what it was like for him. With a shrug he added softly, "I didn't see it as a choice. I had disobeyed the rules and got caught. I ran with my tail between my legs and I'm sorry for that. I was cowardly," he swallowed. "And so far as you feeling used"—the word felt terrible coming out of his mouth—"If there is anything that I know about you and me, it is that I think of us as equals and I always have. I am proud of you and your accomplishments. Because I've always known that you were destined for great things." He nodded gently. That was all.

Minerva nodded back, whatever worry that had been on her face seeped away. Her head seemed to float higher as her back straightened. Albus marveled again at the way she seemed to change her appearance at will. "Thank you," she bobbed her head slowly. "I feel better."

He smiled softly. "Any other questions?"

She shook her head. "Have you any for me?"

Albus sat back in the chair and thought to himself. He shrugged, "What possessed you to turn me down at the end of the school year if you were so in love?"

"I didn't want you to hurt me anymore." That was her simple answer, painful as it was to hear.

He nodded gently. As painful as that other question was to hear, the one rolling about in his mind was worse to say. He swallowed before it came out, "Do I hurt you now?"

A soft, sad smile crossed her lips. She slid down from the desk and sat on an armrest upon Albus' chair. She kissed him softly on the forehead. Her voice came out softly, rhythmically. "Sometimes, yes. But it would be unfair, I think, to assume that I don't hurt you. You know we both have terrible tempers. We both feel, at times, superior. And we're…well, we both lead stressful lives. It would be crazy to think that we're going to be happy all of the time every day."

That was why he loved her. She took everything into context and accepted it. Neither of them was perfect, hard as they may try. "I love you," he said gently.

She smiled as if nothing had happened. "I love you too. Now what do you say about some lemonade? It's a beautiful spring day."

Albus blinked. Amazing. That was far too easy, but he couldn't for the life of him see what else needed to be said. So he nodded and they went hand-in-hand out of his office.

* * *

><p>I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. It's good to write something un-angsty again. :)<p> 


	16. Morning

Lyrics by Ned Washington, not me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Morning<strong>

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud. Huh-huuuuuh. Huh-huuuuh. Huh-huuuuuh. Albus listened to his heartbeat as he took in the careful breaths to slow it down. He felt so exhausted. One should not feel exhausted so early in the morning. One should feel invigorated. Instead he found himself lying on top of ruffled sheets while trying to catch his breath, wondering how on Earth anyone could keep going after such a wake up call.

He looked beside himself at his unclothed fiancée, breathing in with equally heavy breaths. Her sweaty face gave a smile, but that was all that moved consciously for the next few moments: she was as physically dead as he was.

"Min," Albus shook his head as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead, "What on Earth are you thinking, waking a man up like that at three in the morning?"

A deep chuckle escaped her lips. "It's later than that."

He was sure that she was right, but he sure as Merlin didn't feel like that was the truth. It was, after all, still dark outside and seeing as how there was no hint of rain, he assumed that the sun would greet them if it was early enough to get up. "Liar," he breathed playfully.

"Check your pocket watch on the dresser. It's later than three."

The man took a glance at the dresser which seemed like years away and shook his head. "It's too far."

She inhaled deeply and turned her body to face him, her arm sliding over his naked chest. Her lips pecked his skin softly before she slid completely against him and placed her head on him. Minerva exhaled unapologetically, "Feeling too worn out to move?"

He could just imagine the smarmy look on her face right now. It certainly wasn't an issue, their age difference, but they did like to poke fun at each other on that front. In this case, he was the old man who couldn't keep up. This wasn't as true as it could be, but the truth of the matter was that she never stopped at anything until he made her stop and sex wasn't an exception by any means.

"Challenging me like that won't make you get your way," he whispered softly. "It's three a.m. and that's all that there is to it."

"You can't be right if you don't prove it," she taunted childishly.

Albus shook his head. No, he refused to leave that bed. He was not only exhausted, but it was much colder outside the heat of his lover's embrace. In any case, he was sure that she was right. "If you care so much, then you get it."

She giggled gently. "I'm not the one who was complaining about waking up." Her head angled up to face the man. "And if I do recall, Headmaster"—it always made him feel good when she called him that in bed—"you certainly weren't complaining while it was happening."

A smile twitched on the edges of his lips. "Of course not. A man doesn't get an opportunity like that very often."

"An opportunity to shag his fiancée?"

The man blinked. He wasn't sure if he wanted to respond to her statement or the fact that she used the word "shag". It didn't quite come out right from a Scottish tongue. He took a second to look at her eyes, playful and exquisite as they were. "Shag?" he raised an eyebrow. Clearly that route offered more fun.

Her smile broadened as her cheeks became pinker. "Yes. Do you not care for the word?"

"It's just not something I imagine you saying," he winked.

She rolled her eyes. "Well I did."

He shrugged. "And it was strange to hear you say it. That's all I'm saying."

"So I heard," she responded quickly.

Albus wasn't entirely sure why he found that exchange so funny, but he did—maybe it was the lack of sleep. His body shook as laughter coursed through his system. Minerva didn't appreciate it very much. She placed a pillow on his head. He felt his breath as it hit the cotton pillowcase, his laughter being muffled by the loosely separated feathers inside it. Her reaction only made it funnier.

He felt the bed creak down as the woman shifted positions. None too gently, she placed her hands on the pillow over his head. Even with his air cut off from him, he found it amusing. It was _still_ funny. His hands reached around the pillow onto her wrists to relieve the pressure. "Will you stop laughing?" her voice rang loudly through the room.

"No!" he shouted (much too loudly) into the pillow.

She pressed against him in an attempt to release her arms. He couldn't see her through the pillow, but he could see the look of frustration on her face. She really was no match for him at the moment and that made her want to fight all the more.

Minerva started laughing herself. "Let me go, Albus Dumbledore!"

"Never," he shouted dramatically.

"You let me go or I will hide your lemon drops and you will never get them back!"

He let her arms go. She fell back onto the bed. Just as she hit spring, he lifted the pillow off of his head to catch a glimpse. It was a highly enjoyable sight—even more so when he saw the playful smile on her face. "That did it for you, did it?" she raised an eyebrow. "Just threaten to take away your sweets and I get whatever I want. So simple," she grinned.

Albus shrugged. "We all have our weaknesses."

"And clearly sugar is one of them for you."

"Yes. Sugar and you," he nodded.

The room fell to a comfortable, sweet silence. A smile on her face shifted from utter amusement to a place of adoration and general happiness. "What a nice thing to say," she whispered softly.

The man nodded his head. "I'd like to think that you've got a weakness for me, too." He didn't ask it, he said it. He really did think that, and time had told him that this was true. Besides that, she _was_ responsible for waking him up before the crack of dawn for sex. Clearly she had some sort of attachment to him. His half-awake mind chuckled at the word 'attachment'. It was a funny word.

"I do," she sighed and crawled back over to lay her head on his chest. Truce. He placed an arm around her.

"Good," he whispered.

Albus inhaled gently, feeling the wave of excitement be replaced by general comfort. He didn't dare let his eyes close for fear that he was relaxed enough to fall back asleep on the woman. Speaking of, it occurred to him that while it probably wasn't three, it was still an ungodly hour to be up. He glanced down at the woman who looked at peace. "Why were you up, anyhow?"

"Couldn't sleep," she sighed pensively.

He cleared his throat. Minerva could be sleeping better hours. It wasn't two nights ago when she was up until three, working. Now she was up before the sun. Unhealthy, that's what that was. "Why not?" He tried not to sound judgmental, but he wasn't sure how well he succeeded.

She let out a large exhale, "Oh, this and that. I've just been thinking about things."

"What sort of things?" he prompted.

"The wedding, classes, more wedding, students, quidditch, Berthold, the papers. And more wedding. You name it, I've thought about it. My mind is a sea of thought."

Albus sighed. He didn't know where to begin with that. "This wedding is causing you to feel stressed." Not an atypical observation, but one that perhaps needed to be stated. She did most of the work, though they discussed it all before things were put into action. Ultimately it was Minerva who was making arrangements for venue and music and whatever else—well, Minerva and her mother.

"Of course," she kissed him gently on the lips.

Now he wasn't satisfied with that at all. "Anything I can do to help? I don't like the idea of you throwing all of this on yourself."

She rubbed her head against his chest affectionately. "It's fine. You have a school to run."

He rolled his eyes. "Give me something to do to help you. You're not sleeping. And you can't deny it. I sleep with you. Or rather, I don't sleep with you because you haven't been sleeping."

A short, chuckle escaped her lips, but no response otherwise. It was frustrating, when she refused to talk to him about things. He tried not to show it.

Albus squeezed her to him affectionately. "Let me help."

Her deep exhalation that followed was one of stubbornness. He knew it wasn't that she didn't want him to help. Minerva just wanted to not put more pressure on him, especially not after he acted the way that he did.

"Minerva," he used his teacher-tone, "let me help. It's my wedding too."

She touched her lips to his skin and looked into his eyes. "I know. But there isn't much to do besides worry that it all will go well."

He shrugged, "I can do that."

That made her smile. He liked it when she smiled. Of course it was followed by a shaking of the head and the raising of eyebrows, "We have almost four hundred people on the guest list, Albus. You can worry about that. So many portkeys," she sighed.

That was not something he had given much thought to—or any, for that matter. He hadn't quite considered the fact that not everyone knew where the McGonagall Estate was. Yes. That was a very large number of portkeys—unless they wanted to use some other form of transportation. "What about floo?"

"Before a wedding?" she raised an eyebrow. "No one wants to come to a wedding covered in soot. I know it's removable," she nodded, "but what an awful way to go to such a happy occasion. You wouldn't want to come that way, would you?"

No, no he wouldn't. She was right. That didn't seem like a viable option. "I suppose not," he nodded. "And we can't do brooms because it's during the day," he frowned. "Portkey it is," the man sighed. "I can take care of that, if you wish."

Minerva bobbed her head gently, "That would be nice."

He looked down at his hand and noticed that he had been unconsciously running it through her hair. It wasn't right, how it never tangled. The man cleared his throat. "What else have you to throw at me, my dear?"

She sighed the way that one does before mentioning a point of contention. Albus braced himself. Her voice was gentle, "Any luck on that best man search?"

"No," Albus shook his head. He hated this topic. He didn't have friends—not that sort of friend, anyhow. "There just isn't anyone that I think is worthy of that title, Min. I'm not chummy with many people at all—male or female."

Her arm squeezed him tighter and then let go. "Why won't you just ask Rudy?"

Easy answer. Rudy would be his first choice, but he couldn't very well do that to the couple. "Because Cora is in the wedding party," he reasoned. "I can't do that to them and add more pressure."

"Albus," she sounded as though she was being forced to be nice, "he is the closest thing you have to a best friend. Ask him. If he tells you no, then we'll press on. It really is too late for you to still be unsure of something like this. You only have one person to choose."

Minerva didn't understand this and she probably never would. He had many friends. He had no best friends. As fate would have it, the closest thing he ever had to a best friend was rotting in a prison cell. The other closest thing he had to a best friend was laying on him at the moment. "It's not that simple. There is no one that I think fits the title."

"For Merlin's sake"—he could practically feel her rolling her eyes—"What about Thurston or Nicholas or Berthold? Any of those would be perfectly suitable and respectable."

He shook his head. Those were all wrong for very different reasons. He ran them off quickly. "I can't do that to Thurston and Nicholas can't come to begin with and I thought you weren't speaking with Berthold?"

"He sent me a letter of apology," was her quick response.

Albus raised an eyebrow. That was an interesting turn of events. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"What did it say?"

"That he was sorry and that he and Agnes want to have a dinner date as a means of further apology. I don't know what I'll say to it, though."

Well he would have thought that the answer was obvious. Take the free meal! But then again, the woman's heart was not called by food very often. She had yet to realize the fact that food never did you wrong. Food was always delicious. Food always gave you exactly what you bargained for—except when it was cooked badly. "Say yes?"

She shifted herself up farther on his chest to look at him. Her chin rested only inches from his. "I think I will. Now why not ask Berthold? We both know him and I do believe that he invited you to be a part of his wedding—"

"At the last minute," Albus interrupted.

"Even so," she shook her head, "you were in it. Besides that, he does seem to hold a certain meaning for us, Albus. I think that it would be a good choice."

He blinked. There seemed to be a hint of hypocrisy in the air. "Weren't you swearing at this man three days ago? Saying that he is a glory-seeking, narcissistic whelp of a man?"

"I was angry."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "I'd hate to think that's what you say about me when you're angry. Merlin knows you have a tongue on you." He stared at the woman whose face was impassive. Apparently she had nothing to say to that. Not surprising, really. Minerva usually had something to say when she was angry and that was the truth. "You're not going to comment?"

The woman shook her head from side to side gently.

Albus inhaled through his nose and exhaled loudly to make some sort of point. Silly woman—at least that's how he had to write it off when she frustrated him so. "You know our children won't have a chance, don't you? They'll be red-haired _and_ inherit your temper."

Her lips pursed and then graduated into a smile. Maybe the prospect was enough to make her not care about the challenge he had proposed to her. She pecked him on the lips gently, "I would straighten them out," she smiled, "and make sure that you couldn't corrupt them again."

Albus wasn't sure if he was amused or offended by her answer. "Do you think I'd corrupt our children? They're mine, too."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't." The woman was quick to let it lay, this conversation. She wouldn't have any more of that; Minerva was nothing if not cautious. "I think we'll have to make them exist before we have this argument."

Albus shrugged. Fair enough. He was the one who brought it up. Maybe it was best not to proverbially jinx their odds of becoming parents—although he couldn't quite believe that his wakeup call had nothing to do with this new adventure. "Is that why you're waking me up at three a.m.?"

"It's after three!" she half-laughed, half-yelled. "Do I need to prove it to you?"

The man nodded playfully. While he noted that she avoided the question, he was thoroughly amused at her response. He really did enjoy picking on her. It was too easy. Little effort equaled great fun in his world. After all, they were only talking about time: imagine doing this for the next fifty, sixty years. Albus was content with that thought.

Her naked body slid away from him and he felt the cold immediately: the contented feeling seeped away quickly. It was absolutely freezing, the air in the room. He pulled the comforter closer to his body while he watched as she picked up something from the floor on her side and then whispered, "_Accio_ pocketwatch." He stared as it zoomed across the room into her hand. "_Lumos_," she whispered and pointed it at the watch. "See?" she said forcefully.

Albus stared at the watch. 5:27. "It's still too early to be awake," he said resolutely.

"Then by all means, go back to sleep," she sighed, maybe too tired to fight it herself.

He was already shaking from the cold. It was _not _enjoyable, feeling so physically vulnerable. "I will once you snuggle against me again. Merlin, it's freezing."

She slid over to him again without complaint and placed her head on his chest again. Her arm fell over him gently, lovingly. Albus was glad to have the warmth back, cold feet and all. It was several minutes before they said anything. They became mutual heat leeches.

The woman's voice drifted over the gentle rustling of sheets, "I'm sorry to have woken you up."

A grin slid over his face as he recalled the events of the morning. He couldn't quite say that he had ever been woken up in such a fashion before. "I don't really mind," he squeezed her gently. "I'm glad we don't have to—how did you phrase it the other day? 'Plan these sorts of things'?"

"Something like that," she whispered gently.

He nodded. "Yes, that's right. I'm glad we don't have to plan these sorts of things." There never was a truer statement, really. Well, perhaps a few, but this was among the many. Maybe the great upside to falling in love with a woman Minerva's age is that she was willing to put in the work. Or maybe it was just Minerva. The man sighed gently, both out of ease and out of desire to sleep. His eyes fought him to roll to the back of his head. "It is a shame that these moments should happen because you're not sleeping, though."

"I know," she whispered softly. "Albus?"

"Hm?" He forced his eyelids to stay open, letting the air flood in. He refused to fall asleep while she was still so awake.

"You should ask Berthold or Rudy."

He blinked, staving off the sleepiness. He really didn't like this topic. "I'll ask Berthold, then. Does that make you happy?"

"It does," she snuggled against him lovingly. "They'll be back in another two weeks. You can ask him then."

"Ahm," he nodded. "I will." With a glance down, he could tell that she felt no inclination towards sleep—how that could be, he did not know, but that seemed to be right. Her eyes were wide open and pensive. "Now," he swallowed, "what else has been keeping you up my dear? You don't seem tired to me even though I know you're exhausted."

She inhaled and exhaled loudly. That was a sign of discontent if there ever was one. Merlin knows he couldn't have that conversation—whatever it was—while he was laying down like that. He was already feeling the waves of sleep hit him like the water at Brighton against the pier. He shook his head violently. No, he would not be lulled into sleep and shown up by that woman.

"Is something wrong?"—she was utterly confused by his sudden movement.

He cleared his throat and decided bravely to throw the covers away from them.

She gave a cry of unhappiness, "Are you mad?"

The man shook his head and shifted his legs onto the ground. Yes. Being up would be much better. He walked around the bed, the woman staring at him as if he was absolutely off of his rocker—maybe he was, he pondered. Albus grabbed his wand which sat next to where the woman's had and then put out a hand for her.

She didn't understand, of course, but shrugged and took his hand. "What is this?" she asked gently, grabbing a free sheet with her hand as he pulled her up with the other arm. Minerva wrapped it around her shoulders.

A grin shifted across Albus' face, "Just relax. Let a man make a romantic gesture."

Minerva shrugged and allowed him to wave his wand towards the corner of the room. Music began to play, just softly enough for the two of them to hear it. Albus placed his hands around her waist while she took the hint and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body pressed against his, barely leaving six inches between their feet. Thoughtfully, she brought the sheet around him. Yes, this was nice.

He took her to the right and she followed, then the left. Her eyes stared up at him with nothing short of love. The words hadn't even started, but she knew. "This song is familiar," she whispered gently.

Albus nodded. "This is the song that brought us together."

Her lips parted softly. "I haven't heard this in ages."

That was sad, he thought to himself. What a song to have lost. What a memory to have lost. Yet, her lips moved with the words when they finally came. He didn't dare speak with her while she said them—if he ever was mesmerized by something other than magic, it would be the look on her face in those moments.

_"The night is like a lovely tune—_

_ Beware my foolish heart._

_ How white, the ever-constant moon,_

_ Take care, my foolish heart."_

They drifted from side to side, her breathing being lulled into a sense of comfort. He felt comfortable, too, with her against him. Why had they never done this before? They had a song. They should have been romancing each other with it in the last few years. Merlin knows it made him feel happy if not nostalgic.

_ "There's a line between love and fascination—_

_ It's hard to see on an evening such as this_

_ For they both give the very same sensation_

_ When you're lost in the magic of a kiss."_

He had never quite fallen out of love with Minerva. He always knew this, but never really felt like he could admit it to anyone—not even her, for a very long time. It really had nothing to do with sex. It was about moments like the one that they were having when he held her. She didn't want him—she needed him. Moreover, and perhaps the more important, he needed her. He needed moments like that.

_ "Your lips are much too close to mine—_

_ Beware, my foolish heart._

_ But should our eager lips combine,_

_ Then let the fire start."_

Her mouth met his gently, meekly. He received the kiss but made no push for more. He was as sentimental as she was at that particular moment. He remembered that first kiss—how mortified he had been that it ever happened in the first place. She was no less mortified, yet for some reason she didn't leave right away. And then she came back over and over again. Yes, it was love.

_ "For this time, it isn't fascination_

_ Or a dream that will fade and fall apart—_

_ It's love. This time, it's love_

_ My foolish heart."_

They swayed back and forth, her grip on his neck simultaneously tightening and loosening as the song went on for the second chorus. She stopped singing—it was replaced by a smile, and then his lips upon hers. Captivating, that was the word; not because she was a particularly good kisser or singer, but rather, because Minerva was an excellent lover in all meanings of the word.

She smiled with pink lips. Her eyes sparkled in the pale moonlight. She looked at peace. "Albus?" her voice flooded the room gently.

"Yes?" he responded with an equally gentle voice.

"Orin came into my office yesterday. He mentioned having an uncle who works for the Daily Prophet."

He blinked. He hadn't quite seen that coming. That must be what was keeping her up—at least what kept her up still. Albus frowned, "Yes, I do believe that's the truth."

She nodded her head gently, something clearly titillating her mind. "I imagine he'll have it in for us," she raised an eyebrow. "Orin was none too happy when I saw him."

The man cleared his throat. She certainly had gotten over the fear that was the media. He wasn't sure how he felt about the matter-of-factness in her voice—he didn't like the idea of it all hardening her. She wasn't Minerva without emotion. "Possibly," Albus bobbed his head slowly.

He wasn't entirely sure on the front of Orin wanting some sort of revenge. Albus had seen the look of fear in his eyes. Surely he was more embarrassed than anything? But then, if Minerva said he mentioned his uncle, he surely had. Maybe Orin was not as nice a boy as he had thought.

A shrewd, bordering on maniacal smile crossed Minerva's face. She wasn't seeing Albus anymore; her vision had receded back into her mind: "Perhaps Berthold's invitation is a fortuitous event for us," she whispered.

Albus stared at her, attempting to connect the dots. He didn't quite understand where that leap in thought came from. He assumed it was her half-awake mind. The man nodded, "Of course. We can mend fences, as they say."

She continued grinning, "Yes. Yes we can."

Clearly she needed sleep—his Minerva wasn't making much sense anymore. Moreover, he was more than concerned about the conniving look on her face. That wasn't an expression she utilized very often, if at all. In any case, she became rather strange when she lacked sleep and clearly, this was one of those moments.

He waved his wand in the direction of the music. It stopped. All sound stopped. The woman blinked. "Did you decide you need sleep? The sun will be up soon."

Albus bobbed his head gently and guided her to the bed. "I think you're the one that needs sleep. You don't have a class until ten. You can sleep more."

She blinked. "No, Albus, really, I'm fine."

He shook his head, sad to see her so sleep deprived. He could tell that she hadn't slept by the typical markers on her face, but all people suffered from that sort of thing. He didn't care very much for when her best asset, her mind, went floppy—when she couldn't function mentally, she couldn't function at all. "You're not yourself, Min. Please sleep."

Albus directed her down to the mattress. She readily slid onto the bed and under the comforter, which he drew over the woman. A smile drifted over her lips: she knew that he was right, of course. She placed a pillow over her own head—that's how she slept, the peculiar thing. Really, who sleeps with a pillow over their head? Still, he couldn't help but smile as her breathing seemed to instantaneously become even and long. Minerva was asleep alright.

Albus picked up his pocket watch which was sitting on the woman's side table. 5:48. He looked in the direction of the window. Yes. Right on time. Dawn had come.

* * *

><p>A little bit of fluff. A little bit of serious. For those of you that are wondering about her research, stay tuned for the next chapter. I won't keep you waiting too long.<p> 


	17. A, for Animagus

**Chapter Five: A, for Animagus**

Just another day in the Great Hall eating breakfast. Minerva stared out at the Huffelpuff table in particular. All of the quidditch players were sitting near each other, reliving the glory that was the weekend's match. It had been a good game: it wasn't often that the winning team won by less than twenty points. Nearly three hours out in the glorious sun and Huffelpuff had taken the victory.

Minerva's eyes darted towards the gap between house tables towards an entering student.

Minerva nodded gently at Kate Landon as she walked through the Great Hall alone. The girl nodded back and took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Orin. She had had a hard week, Minerva knew, but she was acting normally, at least. After that first day, there were no visual signs that she was unwell. Good. Kate was even answering questions in class again. Clearly, whatever it was that had been happening between Kate and Orin was over. Everyone preferred to forget it.

Her eyes glazed over for a second as she allowed herself to fall out of focus. She didn't even realize she was doing it anymore. Five days and not nearly enough rest.

Sunny shoved a piece of buttered toast into her mouth and took a swig of orange juice. It wasn't all swallowed before she spoke to the sleepless Minerva, "The Headmaster tells me that you haven't been sleeping."

"No," she whispered softly and forced her eyes to focus, straining as it was, on the woman. Sunny took another bite of toast and shoved a strawberry in with it. She looked well-rested as usual. Minerva wondered how that could possibly be—surely she spent most of her nights with sick students and that had to be tiresome.

The Nurse swallowed and raised a kind eyebrow, "We have potions to help with that sort of thing, if you want."

Minerva blinked in thought, attempting to process such an offer. The second she did fully comprehend what was being offered to her, she nodded without hesitation. "That would be…wonderful."

"Sleeping draught it shall be," Sunny nodded. "Other than not sleeping, how has your weekend been?"

The woman shrugged, "Typical. I went to the quidditch match. Spent some time with Albus." A soft smile crossed her face at the thought. Their weekend had been lovely. Of course there was the time she wasn't with him…She looked at Sunny and added sadly, "I worked more than I ought to—I flung myself into lesson plans for this week," she nodded gently. "My N.E.W.T. students are about to start on their animagus section. Today promises to be quite a day."

Sunny nodded gently, "The Headmaster never taught an animagus unit, did he?"

"No," Minerva shook her head slowly, "We've only recently begun how dangerous it could be, potentially." She stopped and thought about what she said. Merlin, she was incredibly tired. "Sorry, we've recently begun to know how dangerous it could be. They need to learn."

"You're brave," Sunny moved her head up and down slowly, "to be talking about it. There are only a few of us on staff smart enough to have read your papers. Moreover, there are only a few of us who have put two-and-two together. It won't be long before word gets around the castle."

Minerva blinked. "The damage is done."

Sunny cleared her throat and looked at Minerva, sincerity written upon her face. That statement really hadn't been meant to come out so unhappily, yet it must have for she spoke in a low voice, "I think that there is something very admirable in you and Albus, for doing all that you've done—and for staying together after all of this."

Naturally she was referring to more than just the destruction the woman had caused upon her own body. Sunny was referring, of course, to everything else she knew of their relationship. What Sunny failed to realize was that it was all so intricately related. Minerva could no more leave Albus than Albus could leave her. They were linked-happily linked, of course, but linked nonetheless. "Thank you," she nodded gently and allowed a smile to cross her lips. She did appreciate the support. Some days it felt like Albus was the only person in all the world that she had. "It's nice to know that there are people out there who are on our side."

"Of course we're on your side," Sunny frowned. "No one wants to see you two fail. Merlin knows you deserve happiness."

She swallowed gently, feeling the words hit her. Yes, she believed that she deserved happiness. She also believed that her luck as to what she did and did not deserve was quite one-sided: the good was always followed by the bad in her experience. Oh, but she was being pessimistic—that would get her nowhere. Her fear couldn't get in the way of what would happen. In any case, she was happy to know that other people were on her side, on their side really. "You're kind," Minerva nodded gently, "to say that. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sunny bobbed her head gently and then stood up in her usual fashion. She took a swig of orange juice to empty her cup and then placed on the table. "I'll be off," she nodded cheerfully. "I'll drop a potion off after dinner. Have a good day." With that, she left at a quick pace. Minerva looked on as she made her way out of the Great Hall. After she had gone, she looked beside her for she felt eyes burning into her head.

Albus was staring at her. A gentle smile crossed his lips and he waved slowly with nothing more than his fingers. Minerva waved and smiled back. He was pretty cute, wasn't he? The across-the-table flirting wasn't her style at all, but it was his—sometimes she liked his games better, not that she would ever tell him. In any case, she appreciated the wave of support. Today was the day, after all.

She turned towards her meal of toast and jam and then looked back at her lover. He was waiting for her to take a bite. They both knew she tended not to eat while under pressure—not that she starved herself, she just didn't feel like consuming things half the time. Minerva allowed her lips to touch the raspberry jam as her teeth dug into the toast. It was delicious.

Her tongue glided over her lips as she turned again to see if Albus was still looking at her. He wasn't. He wasn't in his seat, even.

A pair of hands touched the top of her chair by her shoulders. She didn't turn around or look up, but rather, reached up and placed her hand on the man's forearms. He leaned down, his lips just inches from her ear. "Are you sure you don't want me to come to your NEWT class?" he whispered softly.

"No," she admitted.

"I can, you know. Especially if you're unsure about this whole thing."

Minerva shook her head, "I'm quite sure about it. They've already been given the reading, I can't turn back now. Besides," she reasoned, "It's a bit off-putting to have you and me but not Berthold."

He showed his acceptance by squeezing her shoulders, "As you wish. You'll do well."

"I always do," she smiled softly at herself. "In any case," she turned around to look at the man's face with his blue eyes and skewed nose, "we've both agreed that it's inconclusive"—she felt a twinge as she said the word, knowing that she feared she was very wrong, that the truth was more painful than any failed transformation could ever be—"We'll show them," she whispered, daring herself to be optimistic.

"We will," he nodded kindly. "Merlin knows something has to go right for us."

For whatever reason, that hit her strangely—Albus didn't talk like that very often. He was the optimistic one. Somehow that statement came out so cynically, though she couldn't quite tell why. Maybe it was that he was acknowledging their rotten luck. "Yes," she said simply, unsure of what else she could say.

Albus squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, "Just another hurdle, my dear."

The man stood up, as if preparing himself to leave back to his seat. Minerva couldn't let that happen. Quickly, she felt her voice race up her vocal chords and out her mouth, "Albus?" she whispered softly.

He leaned in to her lips, awaiting whatever it was that she had to say. When it occurred to her that she didn't have anything, she went with the first thing that came to her mind: "I love you."

His head turned slowly and his eyes met hers. She wasn't sure what really was making her feel so vulnerable and of course he was no better, though he saw it and heard it within her. His lips shifted into a soft smile and he pressed a finger to her lips. Merlin she wished that it was his lips that were touching hers. "Minerva," he whispered very, very softly, "everything—and I do mean everything—will end as it should. As you implied before, it's all in motion."

Her head bobbed slowly. It was true. "Yes," she swallowed.

Albus cleared his throat, "That being said," he whispered into her ear, "I love you too, Professor. Now eat your breakfast and get to class," he winked.

She pursed her lips playfully, "You managed to turn that around quickly, didn't you?"

The man shrugged and stood upright, "It's a gift."

She couldn't help but giggle at that. Someday he would be called out on his use of the English language and his position, but today was not the day. For today, she was just grateful that she had him at all.

* * *

><p>One by one the students filed into her classroom. She peeked up from behind her desk, scanning over the three articles in question yet again. This had her heart beating quickly, but it would soon be finished. They would all know the basics of animagus transformations, the damage it could cause and use it could be.<p>

One, two, three…eleven, twelve. She nodded gently to herself as the class hit its magic number. Carefully, Minerva slid the chair out from behind her and looked at the students. They were her age when she made her first successful transformation, she reminded herself. They weren't young at all, not like so many of the others. All misguided, perhaps, but they weren't children.

"Good morning class," she heard her voice spread throughout the room. "I trust you all did your homework?" Her eyes scanned the room for any guilty parties. She made a point to tell them that it was necessary that they all do the reading. She would not proceed, she told them, unless they read all of the pages of the articles. Luckily, no one looked too uncomfortable at her question—she took that to mean that all was well in the world of transfiguration. Minerva let out a sigh. "Who can tell me what the 'Regeneration Theory' is?"

A blond-haired Ravenclaw boy raised his hand. The woman nodded in his direction, "Yes Mr. Kosmas?"

He made a point to clear his throat first—he no doubt had opinions on the matter already. "It is a scientific principle which states that with every transfiguration of a living organism into another living organism, the original form is damaged on a microscopic level, but the body is such that it repairs the cells with time."

Minerva nodded gently, "Quite right. So this theory, in effect, only applies when two transformations occur," she held up her index and middle finger. No one looked confused, but all of their eyes were on her. She could feel them. "From the original state into another, and then from that state back to the first. What does this have to do with animagi?" she looked around the class. No takers. Minerva waited patiently at the front of the room, leaning gently on her desk. She could do this all day.

Josephine Blanche raised her hand gently in the back.

"Yes? What do you suppose the connection is, Ms. Blanche?"

"Well if you're an animagus, you're probably not going to stay in your animal form for very long. You transfigure back into a human."

"Indeed," she pushed herself up from her desk and began walking around the room. They understood the theory behind the theory, now on to the specifics, the grueling, painful specifics. "Are there any questions so far, before we begin discussing the articles?"

A slow hand began to raise somewhere in the middle of the desks. Minerva blinked. "Mr. Jenkins?"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't quite understand." The boy looked at her sincerely. He appealed to her with humility, "I know it's in Professor Dumbledore's piece, but how does it damage the body?"

Minerva cleared her throat. "On a basic level," she looked at Orin and then shifted her gaze to the rest of the class, "we are a strange and wonderful combination of atoms, of molecules, of microscopic shards that attach to each other because they have a natural affinity for one another—or repulsion," she added. "We are what we are because of the structures that reside within our bodies. It is what makes us different than animals, than mice and dogs and"—why the hell not?—"fungus. That being said, what logical reason is there to believe that transfiguring one living organism into another with a completely different molecular arrangement might cause bodily harm?" No response. She swallowed before prompting, "I'm sure you all have seen pictures of less than desirable transformations."

Several hands went up. She pointed at a small girl with wiry hair (the least skilled in the class, though that was not by a wide margin). "Miss Weathers?"

"If something goes wrong, then the structures can't reform in the way that they should."

"Yes," she nodded slowly, "in the case of the first transformation, this is certainly true. If any of you decide to embark on the path to becoming an animagus," she raised an eyebrow, challenging them all to do what she had done for better or for worse, "you all will no doubt experience instantaneous physical damage that occurs when something is just the tiniest bit off," she nodded. This was the reality. This was what this class was for. She recalled a personal anecdote from somewhere in her mind. "As you all know, I was taught by Professor Dumbledore. In one of my first attempts," she swallowed, "my paw"—she grabbed her hand—"never quite formed. The wrists are a particularly sensitive part of the body—let me suffice it to say that there was not only blood, but pain." Minerva bit her lip: _that_ was pain. "The tissue failed to transfigure, the atomic structures failed to change," she bobbed her head slowly.

The class seemed to form a glob of general repulsion. They perhaps had never thought of such things, not in a way that meant something to them. They probably saw pictures and passively thought about that sort of pain, of disfigurement, but never given it full thought. Not all students, she reminded herself, had grown up with parents who constantly worked in the art of transfiguration. She cleared her throat. "Does anyone else have any other ideas why there would be damage to the original organism, say, my wrist (in the event of perfect transfiguration) when I transfigure back into myself from a cat?"

Gambert Kosmas raised his hand again. She was pleased to see his hand. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat again, his demeanor growing on pompous. "Well, in effect, you've just gone through two transformations. To quote Professor Dumbledore's article on page 281, 'the muscular tissues are unable to regenerate enough of the appropriate cell-type with such molecular diversity between organisms'."

"Very good," she nodded in approval. Her eyes fell across the room. All of the students were flipping through their articles, trying to find the quotation. "And what does this mean? What does it imply?"

"That it hurts?" a voice came from somewhere in the front. The class laughed. Minerva was sure she knew who it was. She walked in the direction of a tall, brawny boy. If she didn't know that it couldn't happen, she would have sworn that he had troll blood in him.

"What was that, Mr. Cudgel?" she challenged seriously.

The dark haired boy could have looked less stunned. He had only been called out time and time again in her class. His jaw moved up and down, soundlessly. She continued walking slowly over to him, her eyes locked with the boy. His answer came after a few seconds, "It uh…it implies that each time you transfigure yourself from a human into an animal and back, your ability to…rebuild," he swallowed with the word as one who is searching for the right verb, "is slowed."

She raised a surprised eyebrow. Good. "Yes." She shifted herself to an advantageous point in the room so everyone could see her. "So while one naturally has to rebuild cellular structures (of course the body does this, we have no control over such things), the rebuilding process is made more difficult with every transformation in any given span of time. With animagi," she nodded, "this is particularly salient because we typically do not hold our animal form for very long. The transformations are usually used for a purpose and after the purpose has been fulfilled, one changes back, causing more destruction."

Minerva blinked, looking at the students. "Now," she folded her hands in front of her stomach, "can someone please define 'damage' to the class in the manner that I am applying it?"

Mr. Kosmas raised his hand again.

The woman cleared her throat, ever-so-slightly annoyed. "Anyone besides Mr. Kosmas?" She looked to her left and made eye contact with Miss Melba Hines. "Miss Hines?" she whispered softly.

"Well," she shrugged, "it's not damage in the conventional sense. Not after one is skilled at being an animagus. It's damage in the sense that you've been broken on a small scale. But that's what the regeneration part is. Your body rebuilds it."

Minerva nodded. That was part of it, yes. "What about Professor Dumbledore's owl story? What does it tell us?"

She continued to look at Miss Hines whose eyes went to the back of her head. She thought about it. "When the owl changed back from a rat to an owl, its feathers were significantly shorter than when they had started."

"And in what way is that damage?" she raised an eyebrow, teasing out the information from the girl.

"Well the feathers were shorter," Miss Hines shrugged.

"Yeeees," she sighed and turned towards the class, "Would it be likely, knowing what we know, to believe that were we to transfigure this owl over and over again, its feathers would get shorter and shorter?"

Many students' heads bobbed slowly up and down. She swallowed. "So what is the driving force behind the Regeneration Theory?"

Orin's hand went up.

"Yes?"

"Time," the boy said gently. "The duration between the transformations affects how quickly you can regenerate. That's why it can be dangerous. The body can heal itself, but not necessarily when the duration is shorter and repetitive."

A smile crept on her lips. Now they were getting somewhere. "Five points for Huffelpuff," she said gently. "Yes," Minerva nodded her head. "While it is true that any transformation requires energy and change in cellular structures, time is what may or may not allow the damage to be visible. That being said, perhaps we should look at our two other articles." Her heart began pounding in her chest. That's what this was, this lesson. She would have to go through it all in her mind and make it all feel real again—for them, maybe not so much for her. "The one by Berthold Rhytherton, what does his paper tell us?"

She didn't bother to turn around at the silence students, but threw out a random name. "Mr. Schonfeld?"

Inwardly, she had a giggle at the shuffling that she heard. The pages flipping. The shaking of heads. She took her time, rotating to look at the boy who was really quite intelligent and gifted. He didn't care to be called on at random, though. Truth be told, she enjoyed using her power for such things. It wasn't really abusive, just a way of life.

"Rhytherton tested the mind's ability to regenerate brain cells in animagi."

"And what is his conclusion on the topic?" she prompted softly.

Silence. She looked at the girl sitting next to him. If they all read the article, the answer would be easy enough to decipher. "Miss Bullstrode?"

"That it applies," she shrugged.

Minerva exhaled, ever-so-slightly frustrated. A little bit dense that answer was. "In what way?"

The girl bit her chapped lips and then swallowed, "The brain regenerates itself. Except in some cases of rapid transfiguration, sight was lost for longer than expected."

What an interesting read. Minerva blinked, a little bit appalled at that response. "Was sight loss expected?" the professor raised an eyebrow.

Miss Bullstrode shook her head when she saw the rest of the class shaking their heads. Minerva ignored this. She turned towards the whole class. Surely they got this piece of information. "Was sight loss expected? Was sight loss regular?"—she heard her voice grow high, angry, even—"Do animagi typically experience sight loss?"

The class seemed to shake their head in unison.

"No," she shook her head with emphasis. "Animagi do _not_ typically experience sight loss. They do _not _go blind from transfiguring themselves. What would the point of that be?" She looked around the room wildly. She placed her hands loudly on the nearest desk, feeling the injustice radiate throughout her body. Minerva exhaled and proceeded, "Clearly, there was something wrong happening in the testing. Can someone explain to me why vision was lost for short periods of time by some of Rhytherton's subjects?"

Miss Hines raised her hand. "Because he forced his subjects to change too rapidly."

Minerva nodded, feeling righteous anxiety flood through her veins. Berthold could be reckless. "Indeed. Part of his testing required us—as no doubt many of you have noticed, I was among the test subjects—to transfigure ourselves several times in one minute. Most of us experienced immediate problems, though as you can perhaps assume, we all recovered. Again," she nodded for emphasis, "_time_ is the key factor." She blinked, feeling the beating of her own heart, wondering if anyone else could possibly hear that too. They couldn't. Outwardly, she was calm. If Minerva could do anything, it was compose herself if the moment needed to be so. "What else did he find? He spends an entire two pages discussing the degradation of certain parts of the brain."

Mr. Kosmas raised his hand. Minerva pointed at him. "There was one case of short-term memory loss."

"Yes," she pointed at the boy. That was a scary time. No one knew that such things could possibly happen, not like that. "I remember," she swallowed, trying hard to not say too many personal things about the study, "the oldest of us there—I do believe he was around ninety at the time—he very quickly forgot why he was there. Or who many of us were, nevermind the fact that we all were friends." The room was dead, silent. No, transfiguration was not as fantastic as they may have thought. She proceeded quietly, "It affected his short-term memory to such a point that we had to release him from the study. His memory came back to him, but there was worry," she nodded seriously, "that we would have to put him in St. Mungo's. Now what are the implications of that?" she raised an eyebrow.

Miss Bullstrode raised her hand along with Mr. Schonfeld. Minerva pointed at Miss Bullstrode who needed to redeem herself. "Being an animagus can cause potentially permanent memory loss."

Minerva nodded. "Yes. Yes it can, if taken to the extreme." She licked her lips. "Mr. Rhytherton, while he certainly gave us insightful information, there are several problems with his ethical approach to the study, which should be clear. There are not many animagi to begin with. He did make the mistake of endangering several witches and wizards by using us as his test subjects." And now the moment that she had been dreading. Her article. Her reality, her truth. She never went blind or lost her memory. Her problems weren't visible. "What organisms are used in '_The Sexual Implications of Shape-Shifting'? _Mr. Schonfeld?"

"Rats," the boy said gently.

Why hide it? They all knew that it was hers. "And what was I testing for?"

The class stayed silent: she assumed it was more that no one wanted to say it than they didn't know. It was practically in the title, for Merlin's sake. Giving them the benefit of a doubt which she had not done up to that point, she swallowed and sighed, "Fertility. Can someone tell me what I found?"

Slowly, Sara Mickelson raised her hand. She hardly ever said anything, ever. Minerva's eyes widened in surprise. "Miss Mickelson?"

"There were no positive subjects at the end of the study," she said, no louder than a mouse.

Minerva nodded gently and stood up straight as she scanned the entirety of the class. She drifted back up to her desk and leaned against it. "What was the difference between the male rats and the female rats in my test results?"

Mr. Kosmas raised his hand, but did not wait for her to call on him. His enthusiasm dwindled as he spoke on. "The males that you tested had a positive result when copulating with non-test females. The tested females did not conceive when…" he stopped short, perhaps not wanting to finish the horrific thought.

The woman prompted softly to the whole class, "How long was the testing period?"

"Ten months," Miss Hines said gently. "With one day of multiple transformations spaced two minutes apart."

"Yes," Minerva swallowed. "So what are the implications of this study?"

No one raised their hand and she did not have the heart to make anyone say it. Right. They understood. She could tell by the look of sadness on the girls' faces and the uncomfortable ways that the boys' mouths twitched. "Historically," she swallowed, "female animagi have not typically had children. In previous years, we've attributed it as a fluke. Science explains it better for us, I think." With that, she nodded her head. "We will be keeping these articles in mind for the rest of the term. I hope you remember them if and when you decide to embark on the path to becoming an animagus. You're dismissed."

The students got up slowly, perhaps confused, perhaps stunned, perhaps just unsure of whether or not they should say something. None of them came up to her, though many of them nodded on their way out. She watched as they trailed away one by one.

* * *

><p>Albus leaned against the wall casually, staring at his lover. There was something truly beautiful in the woman. He knew this, of course, but she was something completely different when she was vulnerable. Minerva was radiant when she was in charge, when she was teaching, researching, acting in whatever role was handed to her. But when the woman was alone, when she let herself unclench her fist on control—that was beautiful.<p>

Her fragility was taken to the extreme with her feet dangling off of the edge of the astronomy tower floor. With the simplest push, she would fall and break. That's where his lover was. It seemed like some metaphor, but he did not very much wish to think about it. What he did want to think about was how lovely, how magnificent Minerva McGonagall was. He didn't tell her often enough, but he thought it every moment he was with her.

The man walked slowly over to her and sat next to her, watching his feet as they seemed to magically find themselves swinging over the edge beside Min's. She didn't seem to mind. Her head and shoulder shifted against him, her weight falling upon the man. He wrapped an arm around the woman.

"We seem to find ourselves in familiar territory," he said gently. It wasn't long ago that they were there, in that very spot, watching the snow fall and having serious conversation. He wondered to himself if perhaps she had inside of her the fear that he had had on their last occasion in the astronomy tower. Surely there was no anxiety on her part. He would stand by her for ever.

"I like this spot"—she smiled because it seemed the polite thing to do. "I'm glad you showed it to me."

Albus nodded. It was the best spot in the whole grounds. They could see everything together. "I like to come here when there isn't anyone around. To think. It's a great thinking spot." He squeezed her to him. "Speaking of which, what are you thinking about, Miss McGonagall?"

She took her time to respond. No doubt she was trying to decide what version of truth she was going to tell him. Apparently she chose to opt for the real one: "Oh, just how I may never have children."

He swallowed. Albus had anticipated this on some level—her optimism earlier never had him fooled. "There are worse things, don't you think?"

Her eyes met his, filled with emotion. "Worse things than not having children?"

"Yes," he shrugged. "I don't believe that we'll be that unlucky"—he really didn't. They deserved some good fortune—"but if we are, so what? You might find it hard to believe, Min, but I really want nothing more than you. Just you."

"And what about what I want?"

It was a gentle question, not meant to hurt anyone or anything, but his heart seemed to be smashed into a thin layer of mush with the utterance of those words. The fact of the matter is that if the worst were to be true, she would have no control over it and neither would he. There would be no way to reverse that sort of thing. All he could do was work to quell her fear, her anxiety, her pain—his pain, too. "You'll get everything you want, Min, because it's what you deserve."

She blinked, "What if your optimism doesn't pay off, Albus?"

He shrugged, "Then we'll be thankful we're teachers. We'll have more children than anyone else," he smiled gently. "Just think about how many of them grow up to be Ministers of Magic and Quidditch Federation referees"—her lips shifted into a smile with that—"how many of them become award-winning researchers," he winked.

Minerva shook her head, a gentle smile on her lips. "Seems a bit perverted for you to be referring to me as your child."

Good. She was making jokes. The man shrugged, "Perhaps, but you understand what I'm saying."

The woman nodded and then placed her head back on his shoulder. "What is so special about me? Most men, Albus, most men would run the other way if they knew what you know of me."

"Not true," he shook his head. "No one would run from you if you wanted them. I certainly won't. And Min"—he swallowed—"I could say the same of me. I am not what they think I am, and if they knew, I have this deep-seated fear that no one would want me. Your faults…they're at least forgivable. But I digress," he sighed. "What is special about you?" There were a million reasons that she was special, that she was worth loving, worth keeping and fighting for. "Everything," he whispered softly. "There is only one Minerva McGonagall. Who I fell in love with seven years ago. Who I am still in love with. Who is brilliant and fun and sarcastic. Who accepts me. Who sleeps like she's a packaged sardine. Who has green eyes and long legs. Who for whatever reason really, really likes taking baths when she's stressed. Who has a beautiful smile. Beautiful everything, really. She's one of a kind, if I may borrow the phrase. You're special because you're you," he whispered affectionately.

She lifted her head, a soft smile on her face. "Thank you. I needed that."

"It's all true," he shrugged.

"And that," she nodded softly. "Sorry I'm having a moment of weakness."

"Don't be sorry." Albus stared at the woman. She had managed to keep the tears inside, but he saw them lingering in her eyes, the pools of clear liquid. "You're human. I like that about you," he grinned.

"I don't suppose me being a cat would get either of us very far," she raised a playful eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. "No. No I don't think it would." He squeezed her to him one last time and stared out at the horizon. The landscape told him that it was nearly time for some sort of meal. Since he had had lunch, he assumed it was time for the next meal. "Shall we to dinner? Sunny has a potion for you. You can get some sleep tonight."

She nodded. "Sleep would be wonderful. So would food, come to think of it."

"Good. Then let us to food."

Minerva laughed gently at that. She would probably never admit it, but he knew that she liked his eccentric nature. Maybe that was his way of proving to her that he was human, too.

* * *

><p>I know this is a chapter many of you have been waiting for. I would love to hear what you thought of it.<p> 


	18. The Three Broomsticks

**Happy Graduation everyone :)  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: The Three Broomsticks<strong>

"_Why can't I go that way?"_

_ "Because we've already gone that way. Remember the quicksand?"_

_ "That wasn't that way. It was that way."_

_ "We can go that way if you really want."_

_ "Let's throw a log in."_

There was a pause in the dialogue. Albus heard a gentle thud then the rustling of what must have been the quicksand. He smiled softly to himself. They were getting close to the end, weren't they? Sergius hadn't quite figured it out, but it was only a matter of time.

The man cleared his throat and called into the mess of trees and greenery, "Professor McGonagall, it's time for your dinner date."

"Just a moment," he heard her call back.

He waited patiently as the trees shrank and then disappeared, soon followed by the shrubs and small animals. The room instead became a mass of disheveled desks stacked upon one another, teetering menacingly on the sides. He took it upon himself to levitate those desks and place them gently on the floor.

"We were so close!" Sergius pouted. "I wanted to finish."

Albus had a hard time keeping the smile off of his face as he watched Minerva stare down at the child with that 'I know you better than you' glare. "We'll do it next time," she said conclusively. "Maybe I'll even add more for you to do," she raised an eyebrow.

The child's shoulders dropped in a 'woe-is-me' pose and he stomped in the direction of Albus, a large pouty face on his lips. "Why do we have to stop?" he asked the man sadly.

He cleared his throat, "Because Professor McGonagall has got to get ready for a dinner we have."

Sergius looked up at him, challenge written on his face. "Dinner is in the Great Hall."

"Not for us. Not tonight," Albus nodded gently. "We're going off the grounds for dinner. We're meeting some friends of ours."

At that moment, Minerva approached them, her cheeks red with exercise. "Sergius," she said softly, "I told you that this would have to be short, remember?"

"But we're so cl—"

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head, "I told you that it would be short and so it has been. We will finish next time."

He stomped his feet on the ground. "When is next time?"

Minerva rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Maybe tomorrow, if you stop pouting."

Albus bit his lip to hide the smile that plagued his mouth. This was mighty adorable, watching Minerva order around a defiant nine year-old. The child didn't buy her statement.

The boy folded his arms, "Promise."—that wasn't a question, it was a statement. Like hell Minerva would take that sort of talk. Albus prepared himself for whatever was coming next.

"With an attitude like that," Minerva folded her arms to copy him and his attitude, "you won't ever get what you want. We will play as soon as we can, that's all I can promise you. If I can find the time and IF you're good, we might be able to finish up tomorrow. Is that alright by you?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," he stated simply.

The woman inhaled through her nose, clearly frustrated, and then looked at Albus. Her voice was kind to him—the way she transitioned from angry baby-sitter to normal human being was impeccable. "What time is it?"

"Five," he said gently. "I'll take Sergius back, if you want."

She looked at her office, then the pouty child, and then her fiancé. Minerva shrugged. "That would be nice. I can't be looking underdressed in the presence of Berthold, now can I?" she rolled her eyes.

That woman. She had some sort of ongoing thing with beating Berthold. It was both amusing and sad. She hadn't quite gotten over whatever it was that he said to her at the wedding. Moreover, Albus had a sneaky suspicion that had she not been friends with Berthold at the start of her career, she would not be friends with him now. It was interesting, he thought, that she should be wanting to include him in the wedding. Maybe it was some sort of game for her.

Albus shrugged, "We're only going to The Three Broomsticks, Min. That hardly requires fancy dress."

She raised an eyebrow, "I still want to look nice."

He exhaled. Why fight it? "You always look nice. But I see your point. I'll be up after I drop Sergius off with his parents." With that, he looked down at the child. "Ready to go back?"

The boy shrugged passively.

Albus looked at Minerva with a knowing smile on his face. She smirked back at him: there was certainly some subtext there. He shook his head and then looked back down at Sergius. "Come on, let's go."

He led the way out of Minerva's classroom, Sergius following behind him silently. Albus glanced down at him. He was tall for his age, which was surprising: neither Cora nor Rudy were particularly tall. He took after his father, mostly. Except he had his mother's cheeks—Albus wasn't sure if that fortunate or not at such an age. With any luck, he would fill out better than his mother had.

The man cleared his throat gently, feeling the silence press in on them. Children weren't meant to be in silence. Silence helped no one at that age. He spoke gently, "Have you decided that you're happy to be at Hogwarts?"

Sergius shuffled his feet and mumbled, "Yes."

He didn't believe that for a second, not with that kind of response. "You're not very convincing," Albus pressed.

"I have no friends," Sergius said very matter-of-factly. "I had friends before I came here."

Ah, there was a subject that he understood. Good friends were hard to come by in general, but it had to be even more difficult when there was no one the same age around. "What about first years? You can make friends with them. They're only a few years older than you are."

"They don't care about me," the boy said bitterly.

Albus swallowed, reasoning with himself. "Perhaps they would if you spent more time with them."

Sergius shook his head. "I don't want to."

"Why not?" he raised an eyebrow. "You're complaining about not having friends, but you could find some, you know. They know what it's like to be displaced like you."

The boy looked up at him. "Displaced?"

He blinked. Was there another word for that? "Uncomfortable. Gone from where you normally are. They all left their friends and family to come here."

"Mom and dad _made_ me come," the boy said with a hint of resentment in his voice.

Albus stopped walking and looked at him. It was not his place to tell the child that his parents were good people and knew what was best for him. It was not his place to tell Sergius not to feel that way. Perhaps, however, it was his place to impart some particular knowledge to the boy. "I didn't want to be near my family, either, when I was your age," Albus said gently. "I hated them."

Sergius looked up at him, puzzled. No doubt the boy had not given much thought to Albus as a child— who would? "Hated them?" was his response. Perhaps Sergius disliked his parents, but he certainly didn't hate them. There was love in that family.

The man swallowed and nodded his head.

"Why?" the boy asked. There was no gentle in his question. He was a curious child and there was no reason to hide his curiosity, none at all.

Albus began walking again, Sergius following behind him. "Well," he shuffled along, regret coursing in and out of his chest, "they weren't like me–or I wasn't like them, I suppose. My parents," he inhaled gently and then exhaled, "they knew that I was a good boy, that I didn't need them to succeed–and in many ways, I didn't need their approval." He blinked. That's how he thought it went, anyhow. "They paid attention to my brother and sister, never me—at least it felt like it was never me. I told myself that they loved my siblings more than me. So I stopped loving them." He stared at the boy, knowing that he was loved and had a welcoming home. "Sergius?" he sighed.

"Yes?"

The man cleared his throat, "Your parents love you. They just want you to succeed. They also miss you," he said gently. "Parents miss their children when they're gone," he nodded.

Sergius bobbed his head. He understood that. "Do you have kids?"

His stomach took a short jolt of a drop. Of course he understood where that question came from, but it was more off-putting than he would have thought. He smiled softly down at the boy, "Not yet. Maybe after I'm married."

"My mum says that you and Minerva are like rabbits?" the boy asked curiously.

Albus' eyebrow rose. Somehow he didn't think that Sergius was meant to repeat that. "Yes," he nodded gently, "we eat a lot of carrots"

He very carefully ran every conversation he had had with Cora and Rudy within the last year. Come to think of it, he did talk about sex quite often with Rudy. Minerva no doubt spoke about it at least every now and then with Cora. It was funny, he thought, that Cora would make such a statement, though. Maybe it was just because it was spring and everyone assumed the worst. Maybe it was just the simple fact that Cora was Cora…and Rudy was Rudy, for that matter.

The two of them turned a corner and went down some stairs in silence. Sergius had gotten used to the changing staircases. He hardly held on at all to the sides anymore. "Did you have fun with Minerva?" Albus asked gently.

"Ahm," the boy bobbed his head. "I wanted to finish."

"You can finish tomorrow," Albus nodded. Of course he was only repeating what Minerva had said, but somehow it made him feel important, imparting this knowledge to the boy. "I'll make sure she makes time for you."

Sergius smiled. "I want to win."

Albus smiled softly at the statement. Oh, the things children said. "Don't we all?" he winked. "We all want to win in the game of life," he nodded more to himself than for the boy. He was lost in his own musings of the statement. Somehow the things that were important before were not so important now—his life trajectory had gone in a different direction and he was determined to succeed as he always had.

They exited the stairs and took an immediate left. Albus knocked on the door.

"I don't want to go home," Sergius frowned.

The man sighed, "You should try talking your father into playing a game."

"He doesn't play games."

The door opened, a Cora standing behind it. A soft smile drifted across her lips. "That didn't take long."

Albus shrugged, "She has to get ready for that dinner with have with Berthold. If you can find time to send him over tomorrow, Min promised that she would finish the game with Sergius." Albus looked down at the boy whose frown hadn't gone away. He didn't like home very much, did he? There probably wasn't very much to do and with Cora as the only company on a Saturday afternoon, that couldn't possibly be fun. His heart did go out to the boy.

"Oh," Cora raised an eyebrow, "I suppose that gives him some incentive to clean his room." Her eyes bore into her son; Albus could feel it, even from way up where he was.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Maybe around three or so?"

Cora nodded with pursed lips. She opened the door wider and her son walked in without saying goodbye to Albus. He shrugged it off. It was the age. The man continued to stare at Cora who looked unhappy with her son's behavior though she did not say something like she normally would.

"He's quite bright, you know," Albus said gently.

"Yes, he is. He takes after his father, I'm afraid. He's quite sneaky about it; he's going to be punished in the near future for how he failed to manage cleaning his room." She threw her arms up in the air, "He just shoved everything under the bed," she shook her head, flustered. "I tell you, Rudy had to have told him that trick. Like father like son," she rolled her eyes. The woman's tone changed immediately as she changed the subject. "In any case, you two are going out with the best man?" she raised an eyebrow.

The man shrugged, "Hopefully the best man. Haven't asked him yet."

"You don't want to ask Rudy?" Cora raised a questioning eyebrow. "He's a bit put out that you haven't asked."

"Oh?" Albus blinked. That was surprising. Was he really? "I would have thought that he'd be too busy."

Cora rolled her eyes. Her pursed lips reminded him more of a canary than they had before; he was only waiting for her to chirp angrily at him. "Too busy with what?" Cora shrugged. "He needs something to occupy him. He's spending all his time in the library these days—can't imagine doing that. He needs something that gets him away from it."

"What about Sergius?"

The woman looked behind her to be sure that her son wasn't around to hear. She lowered her voice, "They're going out to play quidditch tomorrow. Rudy has set it up with one of the boys on his team to teach lessons. They'll be doing that."

An eyebrow rose. "That sounds like a brilliant idea. Whose was it?"

"His," she shrugged. "Rudy can be a good father when he wants to be," Cora smiled. "I'm sure he wouldn't turn you down if you wanted him to be your best man. I know Minerva was saying that you were having trouble deciding. I only offer him because I can," she giggled a little. Albus had never heard her giggle. What a strange thing to hear out of that woman's mouth.

"Hm," Albus scratched his chin thoughtfully. He really did prefer Rudy to Berthold. Berthold had treated Minerva quite badly, whether or not he tried to apologize. "It wouldn't be a hindrance? You know you're in the wedding, too."

Cora rolled her eyes, "Of course I am. And no. He would love it."

Albus nodded his head with a grin. "Perhaps I will do that, then. If you're certain, I mean."

"Ask him," the woman nodded. "He'll be delighted."

"Is he in?"

She shook her head. "Library."

Just his luck. "Oh well," he nodded, "there is always tomorrow. Have a good evening, Cora."

"You too," she said politely and then shut the door behind her.

Albus quickly turned around and began walking up the stairs towards Minerva's rooms. As he waited while the stairs changed, he thought gently to himself as to whether or not this would drastically alter any plans that they had made. Certainly not. Minerva had suggested Rudy in the first place. Surely this was how things wanted to be.

Now all he had to worry about was the dinner with Berthold. He had a feeling that tonight would not be as easy as it was made out to be. They chose to stay close for many reasons, least of which was the fact that Bertie chose The Three Broomsticks. Albus couldn't imagine why: maybe he was feeling nostalgic. Or cheap. Yes, Bertie was no doubt feeling cheap. But who could blame him, really? He had only just returned from his honeymoon. Surely that sucked the money out of him. The other reason that they chose the Three Broomsticks was that it was relatively secluded. Reporters wouldn't be in Hogsmeade, just having drinks, now would they?

After going down the corridor and then another flight of stairs, Albus knocked on Minerva's door. She opened it, a smile on her face. He took a moment to look at the change in colors of her robes: crimson. He liked those robes on her; they looked good against her skin. "Good evening, Professor," he smiled softly, still getting a kick out of the pleasantries they exchanged in the theoretical public.

She winked softly at him, "Good evening, Headmaster. I'll just be a minute," her gentle voice wafted below the doorframe. She opened the door wider for him to enter, which he did. All of her lights were out except for her lavatory, he noted. The woman walked straight to the bathroom, leaving the door open for him to follow. Albus stood in the doorframe, watching as she applied lipstick. He smiled at the sight; she _was_ lovely.

"Can I help you?" she teased, fully aware (with the intelligent use of the mirror) of the fact that he was staring at her.

He cleared his throat, "You look lovely."

Her cheeks seemed to rouge themselves to a lovely rose. The woman didn't look away from the mirror, though she certainly could guess that he saw her blushing. "Well thank you," she smiled.

The man found himself having some highly unrespectable thoughts as she shifted herself closer to the mirror to redo her hair. Of course it was already immaculate, but that wouldn't suffice for her, certainly not. She preferred to be perfect; to appear perfect, anyway. Images of the woman leaning over him, face flushed with desire, hair wet with sweat flashed through his mind. He liked it when she got pretty–it gave him a good reason to undo it all. A wide, silly grin crept on his face. It occurred to him that perhaps Cora wasn't all that off. "Do you think we're like rabbits?"

Her hands temporarily stopped their braiding as she turned slowly to look at him, puzzlement on her face. She started it up again before speaking to him. "Excuse me?"

The man licked his lips, amused. She heard him. "Do you think we're like rabbits?"

She frowned, confused. "Does someone say we are?"

"No," he lied, preferring to not spread word around. "It's just a question."

She puckered her lips for effect, squishing the light pink liquid over her lips. Her green eyes stared into his. She didn't quite believe him, but that really wasn't an issue. A smile very slowly drifted over her face as she tied the knot in her hair off. "I think," she walked over to him slowly, bordering on seductively, "that you ask very strange questions, Headmaster."

He smiled as she leaned against him, her arms draping around his neck. He placed his arms around her slim waist, happy to be there, holding her, though it did nothing for his accumulating desire. "Dare I think that you find it attractive?" he asked lightly, his eyes staring at her lips.

Minerva giggled gently and looked up into his eyes, love written in the green orbs of her own. "I think you know I do," she whispered and pecked him softly on the lips. "Shall we go?"

Alas, it was time. Even if she was playing with him like she was, they had to go. Merlin, he didn't want to go. Albus nodded gently. "Yes. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p>It was time, she thought, for things to explode again. It had been too long without a word from the press. Too long without receiving letters. Moreover, she had a sneaky suspicion that Orin would not fall through with his offer; he didn't do that, ever. With any luck, if they ran into trouble, the enemy would be gentle. Perhaps they would only say what they needed to say, not throw everything that was truthful out the window. Certainly, they would write about the wedding. She'd rather they publicize the wedding because of her, not because a random guest let it go–although she wasn't entirely sure why it had not been released already. The Daily Prophet, at least, knew the truth. Yes. Just a matter of time.<p>

She grabbed her fiancés hand and tugged on it before they entered The Three Broomsticks. They stopped walking. His kind face smiled at her. He was in no hurry. "Yes?" he whispered softly.

The woman rolled her eyes, knowing that she was unreasonably flustered. "Do you always have to be so calm? You're always so calm about things."

He shrugged. "It's just dinner, Minerva. Why shouldn't I be calm?"

She raised an eyebrow. It was so much more than dinner. He had no business acting like it was simply a meal. "You're going to ask him, correct?"

"No," Albus shook his head. "Cora convinced me that I should ask Rudy"

Her eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed quickly in anger. How many times had she tried to coax him into asking Rudy? How many times? Minerva's lip twitched. "And pray-tell, how did she do that?" she raised an eyebrow, feeling the beginnings of utter anger flow through her bloodstream.

Albus read her anger like it was second nature. He didn't cower from it though–she didn't expect him to, anyhow. Rather, the man squeezed her hand reassuringly, like he always did and would. "She said that he wanted to do it."

She swallowed, her lips and teeth clenching together to avoid a tantrum. He shouldn't have made that decision without her. Minerva simply shook her head, knowing that she had nothing pleasant to say to him. It wasn't worth it, getting riled up before dinner with Berthold. Her voice came out calmly and controlled, "I don't know why you ever would have thought that he wouldn't."

"He's busy," the man shrugged.

Her anger drifted somewhere from her mouth down to her stomach. She had any number of unpleasant things to say to that; she chose what was perhaps the least offensive of them: "We are all busy, Albus. Somehow we all manage."

"True," he nodded. His voice was calm, but she could tell that he was controlling his to be light against her deepening tone. He did it well, but she knew when he was playing the part of subordinate.

She shook her head, saying to hell with it to herself. Her seething and hushed tone could not have been mistaken by anyone. "I have been asking you for _months_ to ask Rudy and you choose tonight of all nights to change your mind?" the woman hissed. "That seems like a very poor choice to make." She shook her head, not knowing what other response could possibly be appropriate.

"Minerva, please calm down." He looked at her straight in the eyes with his comforting blue orbs. He did have a gift, didn't he, to make it seem as if he knew everything, as if everything would be alright, didn't he? She tried hard to not be soothed by them, but found it ultimately difficult. The tension in her shoulders left as with the snap of ones fingers. "Better," he said gently. "It will be fine. We'd both rather Rudy, anyhow. Yes?"

She paused in thought. Begrudgingly, she nodded her head. Damn him.

"Good. Then let's do this dinner and not say anything else about it."

She pursed her lips. Fine. It was only their wedding, after all.

The woman walked through the door after he opened it for her. It wasn't that she waited for him to do it, he just happened to have that quick of a reflex. She smiled softly at him, wanting whatever that was to go away. "Thank you," she said as she entered the establishment. He was just as quick to respond with "You're welcome".

She looked around the room in search of Berthold, but it amounted to naught. She looked up at Albus, unsurprised yet peeved. "They aren't here yet," the woman sighed.

"We'll sit somewhere where they can find us," he responded gently, his hand guiding her towards a table in the back. She allowed him to lead her as he usually did to a table for four near the window. There weren't many people back there, except for one gentleman who appeared to be taking a nap and a waitress who was apparently not their own, cleaning a table.

A tall, middle-aged witch approached them before they had even sat down. "Evening. Can I get you something?"

Albus nodded his head, "My date would like a lemonade. I'll take a butterbeer."

The woman nodded and then turned around. She stopped and turned back to look at them, puzzled. She cleared her throat gently, "You're Albus Dumbledore, aren't you?"

Minerva glanced sideways at her fiancé. He nodded his head with a charming smile, "Indeed I am."

The waitress stared at Albus, eyes growing ever-wider. "It's an honor," she said, very inarticulately. "That was a butterbeer and a lemonade?"

Albus nodded. "Indeed it was. Thank you, Clara, is it?"

She cleared her throat and looked down at her name-tag, "Yes. Clara."

"It's an honor to meet you, Clara," his voice drifted smoothly across the table.

A blush crept on her face and the waitress turned around, heading towards the kitchen. Albus' attention left her rather quickly and changed towards Minerva. The woman raised an eyebrow. "Did you enjoy that?"

He smirked. It wasn't as though his status didn't help him on occasion. "I may have."

"I thought as much," she smirked back. "You like the attention."

Albus shrugged, "I might." His cheeks were red. It was nice to see embarrassment on his face; it didn't happen very often. He had been caught, basking in his own importance. Moreover, he had been caught flirting with the waitress. Albus could flirt, oh yes. He was downright charming if he wanted to be. Minerva didn't mind so much as she found it amusing, owing mostly to the sense of security she felt being with the man.

"You don't have to hide it," she teased with a grin, "I know this about you." This was not the first or the last time that they would discuss the implications of who he was exactly. Moreover, they certainly had already had many words on his occasional superiority complex. In this case, she chose to indulge him with it, mostly because she was amused by the feeling that she had caught him, like cat and mouse. "What's the point of being responsible for the end of a war if you're not going to get attention?" Of course she was poking fun at him. The blush only grew on his face.

He took her words with grace and dignity, countering her argument. "I hardly did it for the attention."

There was a pause as she allowed herself to accept this answer. The woman nodded gently, her eyes staring into his. It wasn't funny, not really. "I know." Things had suddenly become quite somber, quite serious. She looked at him with love as he began speaking softly, personally.

"I'm glad, Minerva," he nodded gently, seriously, "very glad that you missed all of that. I would have hated for that to be in your memory. No one wants to think about the sorts of things we saw. That I saw. This wasn't just a battle. It was war." His eyes bore into hers, exploring them, it seemed, for some sort of understanding or compassion. He found it; it was hardly buried very deep. "You know I thought about you more often than anyone else while I was out there."

She blinked, feeling her heart break and swell at the same time. She had not expected any of that. Not then, not ever. "You did not," she shook her head, not knowing what else to do other than retreat. She had not asked for him to say that, to tell her so kindly how he felt magnetized to her in the way that she felt it to him. She never asked him to tell her in such an articulate way what she meant to him. Minerva was not prepared for such words. Surely she had no reason to believe what he said: that sort of thing broke her heart. There were so many other people to think about, so many other dreams that had not come true.

"I did," he admitted softly. "Everyone had their sweethearts. Their wives. Their girlfriends. I had no one," Albus paused in thought, not for effect. It was true to a certain degree; no family, only partial friends. He loved very few people. His eyes bored into hers as his voice came out gently, "Except you. Or the memory of you, at least. I thought about writing you," he nodded his head softly and then swallowed, "Loads of times, I did. I never wrote any letters, though."

Her throat grew ever the slightest bit tight; she swallowed it down. She would not let him make her cry out in public by saying sweet, heartbreaking things like that. "Because I told you that I wouldn't accept them?" she asked gently.

He shook his head after some thought. "I'd like to think that you would have accepted any letter from a soldier on the front." That was kind of him, to think of her like that. He was right, she thought, but no one would know. They would not get to do that over again and she would not want to. He shrugged, "I didn't write you because I was _afraid_ that you would respond."

She had nothing to say to that. Albus Dumbledore wasn't afraid of anything, _anything_–except perhaps her, whether that meant losing or gaining her, she clearly was his metaphorical bogart. The woman swallowed. It was too much of him to be saying those sorts of things in such a public place.

Minerva allowed herself to acknowledge that sometimes she truly forgot why it was that they were hounded by reporters, why people stopped and stared at him, why everyone in the world seemed to be in love with Albus Dumbledore. He did what no one else could do. He defeated the enemy. More than that, she reminded herself, he defeated a friend. And perhaps, even more than that, he did it alone. He truly had no one at the end of all of that.

The woman shook her head and sat up from her chair. He was a beautiful person. "I can't tell you what I would or wouldn't have done," she wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning her chin on his shoulder, "but you should know that I thought about you every day during those years." How could she not? He was always in the papers. He was always spoken of. He never truly left her life. "I knew lots of people who were fighting," she whispered gently searching for the right words, "but you were the only one that I had ever loved. Loved like that, anyhow."

He placed a hand on hers and inhaled deeply, content. "I should tell you more often what you mean to me, Minerva. I'm sorry that I don't."

She inhaled deeply, feeling an insanely warm sensation spread throughout her chest. She liked him best when he was like this. Honest. She knew not what brought it on, it seemed to come at the strangest of times, but this was the Albus that made it all worthwhile. This was the man that she loved then and loved now. She loved him so much, she wanted to cry. "We both could say it more," she whispered softly.

He squeezed her left hand tightly. She took note of the way that the metal of her engagement ring seemed so pronounced against the soft skin of her fingers. It almost hurt, even, to feel that compression. But she sort of liked it. Seemed like an apt metaphor for love.

"Here you go," the waitress, Clara, said before she was even at the table. No doubt she didn't care to be part of an awkward situation. To avoid it, she merely interrupted the moment that the couple was having. The woman placed the two drinks on the table and nodded. Minerva made no attempt to leave the man, which is most certainly what Clara was waiting for. She left the table and walked back towards the kitchen.

"Thank you," Albus hollered softly as she walked away from them. She did not respond.

"I think she's a bit put off by me," Minerva whispered, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. She wasn't the jealous type, but she was not accustomed to being interrupted in such a manner when having such a deep, real conversation. If anything, she was offended. She stiffened. The moment had somehow passed nonetheless.

"An appropriate observation," Albus stated gently. He, too, had seen the moment pass. He made an observation of his own as means of changing the subject, "I think you like to fight over me."

A smile that he couldn't see curled on her lips. She was highly competitive. Merlin knows she had fought and fought to be with him. There would be no logic in letting her guard down, even if the waitress was no threat. Truth be told, Minerva did not honestly believe that there ever would be a threat: she believed in them. It was just a game, now. She whispered into his ear, "And I think you like to be fought over. I dare you to counter that, my dear Professor."

"That's Headmaster, to you."

She giggled gently and kissed him on the cheek; his wit was really quite astounding. "Are you ever lost for words?"

"Occasionally," he nodded. "But usually that's because you're tempting me in some fashion."

Minerva was thankful that he couldn't see her, for she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks at an alarming rate. This did not keep her from acknowledging that he was quite wrong, however. "Hardly," she whispered softly. "Even then, you have things to say."

The man chuckled. "Well, I suppose that's right."

It was very right. Albus always had something to say. Unless there just wasn't anything to say. Like when they were lying in bed together, exhausted, gratified and happy. But he didn't very much need to say anything those moments. Sometimes there just wasn't a need for words. She squeezed him gently as a sign of her undying affection for the man. He returned the gesture with no less zeal than she.

A soft smile stayed on her face as she leaned in, remembering their earlier conversation. "Do you think we're like rabbits?"

He turned his head to face her, lips pulled up ever so slightly. "I think," he paused to move a loose strand of hair from her face, "that we have a suitable adult relationship."

She could be just as quick as he could. Minerva raised an eyebrow, "Answer the question."

"You didn't answer it earlier," he countered.

She shook her head. Not fair. Clearly they both were on the same wavelength today. Her powers of deduction told her that perhaps they were a wee bit active for their stage of relationship. Wasn't it about now that that sort of thing became less appealing? A year and a half had passed and her inclination towards the man had not diminished, nor his for her. Somehow, she found it easy to accept the fact that they had been without one another for eight years–well, seven and a half, anyway. They had all of that time to accumulate in bed.

In any case, they were not constantly bedding each other. It was true that the last two weeks in particular had been filled with lots of excitement in that department, but that was not always the situation. Maybe it was just that it had been brought to their attention that there had been something of a dry spell that the sex picked up dramatically. Maybe it was the stress and the need for release. Or perhaps it was just the question that seemed to be weighing in on them like it had never done before. In any case, their passionate love-making seemed to come in waves. Recently, it had been something of a tidal wave. Yes, yes they were currently very much like rabbits.

Minerva blinked. No, she had not answered the question earlier. "And I won't," she smiled softly.

"Then perhaps," he raised a challenging eyebrow, "you should not hold a double-standard to me and expect me to answer."

Minerva bit her lip. Oh, he had no chance of surviving this verbal duel. She blinked her eyes delicately, her powers of persuasion at work. "Or perhaps you should appease me."

"Should I?" he asked gently. He knew what she was doing, but made no mention of it. "Why is that, my dear Professor?"

She liked it when he called her that, Professor. It made her feel equal to him, even though she was not and could never be. Oh, she was impressive and she knew it, but she would never amount to what he had and he was still young in the grand scheme of life. Who knew what other achievements were to come? Ah, but when he called her professor…well, she felt deserving on an academic level to be with him. To be sharing her life with him.

The woman leaned in, whispering softly into his ear after being given the opening, "Because I appease you in other ways."

When she shifted herself away from the side of her head, she took ample notice of the grin that he was trying so hard to fight. She was only proving the round-about point that he was attempting to make, but neither of them cared very much. Albus swallowed, his eyes staring into hers. "Indeed you do."

She pecked him on the lips (which she rarely did in public), next his forehead, and then she drifted off back towards her seat. That was enough public affection now wasn't it? People had started coming in. It was, after all, dinner time. She smiled knowingly, bordering on seductively, at the man. He seemed amused by her flirtiness. Moreover, his hand covered his mouth, giving him not only a pensive appearance, but certainly one of desire.

Minerva could not lie about the fact that she truly loved that look on his face. She had seen it again and again. It made her highly aware of her sexuality when he looked at her like that. She couldn't quite say what forces were at work that made her want to go back to him, to touch him, kiss him, feel him with her. The usual sifting of heat went somewhere between her legs. It was going to be a long night, wasn't it?

From the corner of her eye, Minerva caught sight of another flash of red hair. Normally, she would not have cared at all, except there seemed something familiar about it, something hauntingly familiar. Her reflexes turned her head–it was not a conscious decision. She blinked in the half-second it took for recognition to hit a person, and then she turned back to face her lover who had noticed her sudden movements.

"What?" he asked, slightly alarmed.

She didn't dare look again, not now. Ah, but she was certain that knew who she had seen. The photographs told her. Her instincts told her. Her memory told her. Haunting, indeed.

Albus surely couldn't see his brother on the other side of the establishment; people were in the way, standing, now. So the woman chose to keep it to herself, even as her heart began to speed up in her chest. "I just had a funny feeling, that's all," she smiled softly. "Where do you suppose Berthold and Agnes are?"

Albus shrugged, "Being on time was never Bertie's strong suit."

* * *

><p>"I could tell," Agnes shook her head animatedly, "I knew that night."<p>

"I think you're full of hot air, just like your husband. How could you possibly have known?" Albus grinned, staring at the woman. There was no possible way that she could have had any inkling at all. None. They had been so very careful.

Aggie giggled gently, "Forgive the phrase," she winked in the direction of Bertie, "but you looked like a man in love."

"Which means what?" a giddy Berthold chimed in.

She took a sip of her butterbeer and swallowed. An amused smile rested on her lips as she glanced at Bertie and then Minerva. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about," she nodded in the other woman's direction.

"Oh yes," Minerva smiled semi-passively, "I certainly do."

"The second I saw you standing next to Minerva, I knew," Agnes said and then tapped her nose. "You looked like a man in love and that's all I'm going to say," she held her arms up as if to say 'it's out of my hands'.

Albus glanced sideways at his Minerva. She certainly had a look of love which he caught resting upon her face every now and then, even if it wasn't there now. It shouldn't be surprising that he had one, too. It was just funny that it should be there when he had been trying so hard to avoid it. That was the night that they became engaged, he reminded himself. Merlin, she was just radiant. He reflected gently to himself: she had been wearing crimson on that night, too. Maybe that's why he liked it on her. Or maybe it was just that he liked her to be sporting Gryffindor colors.

A grin spread across his face. He snapped back into the conversation. "Do you suppose everyone else could have known?"

Berthold shook his head, "I don't know what Aggie is on about. I wouldn't have guessed in a million years."

"Men don't notice these things," Agnes dismissed him with the wave of her hand. "Men just see what they want to see."

"Oh, and women don't?" Bertie countered.

Minerva was the one to retort, perhaps finding a means to steer the conversation away from where it currently was: "Women don't expect to see things whereas men are just oblivious. We at least look," she replied snarkily, glancing at Albus who could see her attempt at intelligent conversation. She was perhaps not interested in public perception of them as a couple, which was not surprising in the least.

Ah, but Albus certainly had a response to that. The man certainly couldn't let her get away with such a statement. Like hell he wasn't observant. He raised a questioning eyebrow, "I hardly think you can call us _all_ oblivious."

She raised an eyebrow back at him, "You realize that you are the exception and not the rule, Albus." Her voice was smooth, charming at its outset, but he could hear the challenge in her voice.

"Yes," he admitted with a hint of challenge in his own voice, "but you can't lump the entire sex that is man into one group and call us oblivious when there _is_ an exception." He was, after all, a man. The fact that he didn't fit the description surely proved that they were wrong; or just prejudiced; perhaps just kidding, but he still felt the need to sound affronted.

Agnes giggled at the couple. She had not had a chance to see their banter before, let alone their witty, philosophical banter. She could play just as well with them, despite her simple position in the Ministry: "You're familiar with charts and graphs. You're an outlier. We usually discount those," Aggie smiled.

"Thank you," Minerva stated with finality in her voice. She had won, she thought.

"Wait, wait, wait," Berthold held up a hand and paused for effect. "You're calling _me_ oblivious?"

The two women began laughing gently together. Bertie seemed to prove their point without even trying. Oblivious? Quite likely. But then again, he had always acted a little self-important without really deserving it. Berthold did have an ego. The question was really how much it was merited.

Albus buried his head in his hands. He did not care to be lumped in with Bertie, not at all. "Quiet, man," Albus hissed, "you're making us look bad."

Albus looked beside him at Minerva who seemed quite proud of herself. She winked at him, of all the insults. He felt the red fall over his face. There was a reason that he preferred to work alone: everyone else just seemed to botch it. Berthold would never play on his team if ever there was a competition, _that_ was for certain. Albus liked to win.

"I feel quite insulted," Berthold said in a huff.

Albus caught Minerva rolling her eyes to which he raised an eyebrow. She didn't care for Bertie very much anymore, did she? She had hardly paid two knuts worth of attention to him all night. Maybe it was that conversation at the wedding that finally did it. Or maybe she had decided that it was alright to blame him for her current predicament. She should. She should blame him. His ignorance may have caused them the chance of being parents. Albus cared much less about it for himself than he did for Minerva. He wasn't sure if he would make a good father, but Min surely deserved a chance to be a mother. It surprised him that she refused to be angry with Berthold, even if she didn't care for him. But then again, she did not hate anyone. Well, no one that he knew. For being such a realist, she had a surprisingly good view of people. For that, Albus knew, he could blame her parents. She was raised well by them.

"Well then pay better attention," Aggie stated quickly, cutting Bertie off from whatever else was about to come out of his mouth.

_That _filled Albus with joy. Seemed to him that Bertie had found a woman that would keep him in place, which was good for everyone. What a loving, caring relationship that would be in a few years, he mused. A slight grin spread across his face. He hadn't quite realized how much he really did not want to spend time with Berthold until that moment. Something had changed in the last two weeks in how he saw the man, that careless, ignorant man. Thank Merlin Albus decided to change his mind on the best man.

He found himself ever-so-slightly bored of this conversation as he looked around the table, ignoring the words being exchanged between the married couple. Minerva's gaze, too, seemed to be off somewhere in the distance, not at the table. The man glanced in the direction of her stare, but could not for the life of him see what she was seeing that was so intriguing. He tried to catch her eye, but she would have none of it.

So he sat up, sliding his chair out and placed his napkin on the table. "Excuse me for a moment," he smiled politely, and made his way in the direction of the loo. He turned to look back, after he passed the threshold, in the direction where his fiancée had been previously looking. He didn't recognize anyone. Maybe she thought she saw a reporter. Or someone else she knew. In any case, he walked to the loo, curiosity on his mind.

* * *

><p>Minerva cleared her throat, determined that she would do it. Now was the time, if there ever was one. Albus was gone, at least for a few minutes, and she might not ever have another opportunity, at least not before the wedding.<p>

She slid the chair out from behind her and looked at the couple. "Excuse me," she said without much grace or kindness. There was no reason to be pleasant, not when they had hardly stopped discussing either Berthold's success or her and Albus. Really, there were plenty of other things to discuss in life.

The woman walked in the opposite direction that her fiancé had just gone; she walked towards the front of the establishment; she walked towards another tall, red-headed man; she walked towards the resistant brother of her lover.

He was at a table alone in the corner, though people had stopped by once or twice to have a word with him. Her eye had been on him all night, at least when she could look and be inconspicuous. Aberforth was an enigma to her. He was, in many ways, the only man that knew Albus: this both frightened and thrilled the woman. Her heart sped up in her chest. She was fully aware that what she was doing was not acceptable. But somehow, she did not suppose that Albus would be willing to set up a meeting, even when they were in such close proximity.

Aberforth saw her coming before she was there. It would not surprise her if he had spotted them as well, at least if he was anything like Albus.

He had the same eyes as Albus, she noted immediately, although his seemed hardened whereas her lover's always came out soft. Minerva wondered how that could possibly be. "Aberforth Dumbledore?" she asked gently, although she knew that it was him just on instinct. They certainly resembled one another.

"I thought you saw me." His voice was gruffer than Albus' ever could be, even in moments of anger. "You must be Minerva," he raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to sit down across from him. Uncertain of what else she could possibly do, she took him up on the silent offer.

She nodded gently, unsure of where she could possibly go, what she could possibly say to the man that would have any value. Minerva felt the nerves deep in her stomach. He stared at her, waiting for a conversation opener. After all, she sought him out. The woman shrugged, "I just…wanted to thank you for agreeing to come to the wedding," she said gently.

His eyes narrowed, "Wasn't given much of a choice, was I?"

Minerva swallowed. He was much colder than Albus would ever be, too. Despite their similarity in appearance, she knew that they were nothing alike. "What do you mean?" she whispered. That sense of foreboding returned to her, as with the snap of one's fingers.

Aberforth's enigmatic answer did not help at all: "You're marrying him. You must know how he is." She could hear the disdain in his voice, dripping venom. He certainly did have a perspective of Albus that Minerva had never had. No, no she didn't quite know how he was, not in the way that the brother was indicating. That was not and had never been the Albus that she knew.

She tried again, "He said you wouldn't want to come. I was surprised that you agreed."

He took a sip of his butterbeer as if it was the only thing that gave him solace and then looked at the woman. "He wouldn't let me say no. Said he'd owe me a favor."

So they bartered for it. This did not surprise her, not knowing how they interacted with one another, how they disliked each other. Well, perhaps it was Aberforth that disliked Albus. Albus had long since given up on fixing that relationship, right or wrong. "Seems a backwards way for brothers to behave," she said, treading lightly on the situation.

Aberforth outright scoffed at that. His face was filled with disgust. "We aren't brothers anymore."

She had heard that statement before from Albus so it was no surprise to hear it echoed then, yet it left her scandalize nonetheless. The idea of having family and shunning them like that…well, who was she to judge? She would surely never know how it felt to be so torn, to have a reason to be torn apart like that. "Then what are you?" she asked gently. How far _did_ they distance themselves if they weren't brothers?

"Acquaintances at best. Or hasn't he told yeh?" the man raised an eyebrow.

Minerva swallowed, "He's told me that you've had a falling out."

He frowned, "Funny way to put it."

Her heartbeat sped up even quicker, despite the control she was applying to her breathing. Her voice came out softly, controlled, "He doesn't like to talk about it."

Aberforth wasn't surprised by that at all. It almost made him smile a disgusted smile. "Bloody well wouldn't, would he? If I were you, I wouldn't marry him without knowing. He's not all he's cracked up to be."

She wanted to defend her lover, but she could only say so much in such a public place to a person that she wasn't meant to be speaking to. Her good nature overcame her. The woman leaned in, righteousness in her eyes, "We all make mistakes."

He pointed a finger at her, "Don't let yours be ignorance." He paused, not removing his finger from her direction. There was something sincere in his hard face, "Stop by The Hog's Head sometime. I'll set you straight." He glanced up over towards the loo entrance, then looked back at the woman. "Better get back. He's looking for you."

Minerva blinked. She didn't want to look for fear that she would be spotted by Albus. She nodded and stood up from her chair inconspicuously. "It was nice to meet you."

Aberforth nodded back.

She turned slowly and then walked behind some other tables. She made it like she, too, was returning from the loo. This did not stop her lover from raising an eyebrow as she sat, "Was he pleasant?" Albus wasn't angry; curious, perhaps, but not angry.

Her stomach dropped nonetheless. She felt the guilt spread throughout her body. She hadn't planned on being caught. "He wasn't _unpleasant_," she said gently. Her heartbeat sped up, both from being found out and from the way that Aberforth seemed to peak her curiosity by saying so many enigmatic statements about her lover, his brother. Both boys clearly had a gene for manipulation.

"Good," the man nodded with a gentle, forgiving smile on his face. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "It's fine, Minerva," he claimed softly. His eyes stared into hers. He meant it. "You didn't need to sneak off to have a word. Just because he won't speak to me doesn't mean that you shouldn't speak to him."

She nodded her head slowly. Somehow she had not expected that reaction.

So she was right: it was Aberforth that chose to remain distant. That at least gave her some solace; it wasn't Albus that had turned cold. If anything, Albus (naturally) regretted their separation. There was a sense of loss there. But of course there was. He had neither a sister nor a brother, and he had originally been blessed with both. What pain that must be. He regretted having brought all of that loss upon himself–he would not have kept it all a secret for so long if it was not his doing.

Her fear seemed to drain out just by looking in his caring blue eyes. Albus was enigmatic indeed, but she didn't mind so much. He had learned to be honest with her; he told her everything.

* * *

><p>"We'll be seeing you around then?" Berthold asked with rosy cheeks as the four of them exited The Three Broomsticks together.<p>

Albus nodded his head gently, knowing that it wasn't the truth. "We'll be seeing you at the wedding, if not before then."

"Jolly good," Bertie grinned. He and Aggie began veering to the right of the place, her arms wrapped around his. "Good luck on that front. It was one of the most trying days of my life," he nodded. "It was worth it, of course"–he looked at his wife apologetically–"but it was difficult to get through, I'll tell you that."

Minerva looked up at Albus, her eyebrow raised. Their communicative glances seemed to say the same thing: 'make this idiot shut up.' Albus grabbed her hand tightly and squeezed. There was no chance whatsoever that Berthold had any idea how different their weddings were going to be. Moreover, he could never guess the difference in guest numbers alone. Ah, but they wouldn't talk about that, would they?

"Excuse me!"

Albus and Minerva turned around quickly. There was a middle-aged man, holding a red coat. He held it up, "Does this belong to you?" he asked, looking at Minerva.

She blinked. "I completely forgot that I brought it," she nodded slowly and approached the man to take it. She bent her head courteously at the man and then turned back to face Albus and the other couple after retrieving the article of clothing. The woman looked oddly confused. It was only a coat.

"Something wrong?" Albus asked, leaning in to her ear.

The woman turned back to look over her shoulder, then towards Albus when she knew that the four of them were the only ones outdoors. "The reporters _did_ come," she whispered gently.

* * *

><p>Are you excited? I'm excited. If you would be so kind as to review, I would greatly appreciate it.<p>

-minni


	19. Trouble in Paradise

****I apologize for the extra week. For obvious reasons, this chapter took me longer than expected :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Trouble in Paradise<strong>

Of course he knew it would be bad. They hadn't waited so long for a second-rate story. No, they sat on the sidelines patiently waiting for an opening, for a moment that they could completely ruin, that they could slander Minerva's name, if not his own They did not disappoint at all.

She chose to go ahead of him to the Great Hall, knowing full-well that they would strive to publish in the Sunday paper. Minerva did not fear them anymore—or the students, either. It took her a while, but she had finally healed from the transition, from the fear and the heartbreak that happened the whole of last term. She was back to herself, back to knowing what to expect and how to deal with it. She would live up to his expectations in every way—not that there was even the remotest hint of doubt.

He imagined her reading the blasphemy in her chair, hiding her face, then putting it carefully down for all the world to see. No doubt she was unhappy with the two pages of complete fallacy. No doubt she was out for blood. The Daily Prophet outdid itself and she would want retribution. That was the deal, wasn't it? They fight it.

The man had no qualms with fighting this madness. It was nothing but libel. Nothing but words that were thrown together to match the pictures that they had so carefully placed side-by-side on the front page. He grinded his teeth together as he stared at the picture of him and Minerva, stealing a quiet moment together only last night. He remembered that moment. He was telling her about the war; the caption below the picture read _Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, discussing the affair._ His eyes darted the slightest bit to the right, where the image of Minerva leaning over a table to chat with Aberforth rested. Below the photo read the words _'Aberforth Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall: 'If I were you, I wouldn't marry him without knowing'"._

Even he was disgusted by it, by the twisting of the situation. He had expected them to say scandalous things, but to accuse Minerva of an affair like that was tantamount to all-out war. He felt his heart speed up in his chest. The more he thought about it, the worse it registered, the more blasphemous, unethical and vindictive it felt. The Daily Prophet deserved to be blown apart for attacking him and his relationship like that. They were trying to break up a perfectly good relationship for the sake of selling a few papers. It would be easy to blow apart the building, absolutely easy. He got some satisfaction out of imagining the flames rise up into the sky, the smoke and the ashes, flying in the air of London.

Albus grimaced down at the words, those libelous, disgusting, ignorant words. There would be hell to pay for this one. He began reading for the second time.

**TROUBLE IN PARADISE?**

_ The noted pairing of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster and Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts professor, has been of interest to the entire wizarding community for months. Last seen in a public outing in October, they have kept to the school where their duties lie. However, it seems that Hogwarts serves a dual-purpose for this power couple: it is both a place of safety and a prison. All is not well in Hogwarts._

_ Last night while at a double-date in Hogsmeade's The Three Broomsticks with newlyweds Agnes and Berthold Rhytherton, McGonagall stole away from the unsuspecting Albus Dumbledore to have an intimate conversation with one Aberforth Dumbledore, brother to Albus Dumbledore and owner of the Hog's Head Pub. The two brothers have long been estranged for unknown reasons which begs to ask the question of why she should be speaking with him. Actions speak louder than words._

_ McGonagall made good on showing her modest engagement ring to the younger Dumbledore during their fleeting moments. He was overheard stating the words, "If I were you, I wouldn't marry him without knowing," to the twenty-six year-old. Knowing what? Which brother to choose. They have allegedly been meeting in secret at the Hog's Head for months to have a weekly tryst. Now he wants her to himself. McGonagall has a choice to be made: eternal glory with Albus Dumbledore or comfortable happiness with Aberforth Dumbledore. Seems a difficult decision for any woman, let alone one that has continuous problems maintaining work and a private life. _

_ An anonymous seventh year Hogwarts student states, "They've been fighting off and on all year. Everyone knows it. It's starting to affect our studies." _

_ Another anonymous student furthermore states, "McGonagall has been taking out her frustration on all of us. Just because she can't have children doesn't mean that she should punish those of us who can." _

_ A point of contention between Dumbledore and McGonagall, her research shows that as an animagus, she cannot have children. With no well-deserved prodigy in sight, life does not look rosy for the future Dumbledore family. There does not, in fact, seem to be a future Dumbledore family at all. Why should Aberforth be fighting for a barren beauty, anyhow? No doubt hidden in the shadows by the success of his brother, Aberforth cannot bear to see the loss of yet another form of glory to the eldest. Surely the prize of one Minerva McGonagall is worth gloating rights. After all, he would be successful at winning the trophy for once._

_ Finding his moment, this pub owner took hold of McGonagall's insecurity, leading her down the path of least resistance at The Three Broomsticks. They were seen exchanging glances all evening. Despite the double-date taking place, McGonagall still saw it fit to steal away to have a word with Aberforth after finding a moment of freedom. A knowing Albus Dumbledore watched from across the room as they spoke in hushed tones to one another. Upon McGonagall's return, he assured her, "It's fine, Minerva. You didn't need to sneak off to have a word." Is that Dumbledore's means of admitting defeat? Will he be giving up his bride to his lowly brother? Or is there a war brewing somewhere between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade? _

_ Only time will tell as this private affair unfolds for the wizarding world._

Albus swallowed to keep the foam from seething out of his mouth. Merlin, he wanted to blow something up. He wanted to see it explode into tiny pieces and never be repaired again. It didn't matter what it was, so long as it wasn't indestructible. He would gladly take it out on the writer, Archimedes Jenkins. He would do it. Maybe not any other moment in time, but right then, right at that second, yes. Albus would not think twice.

It hurt more the second time. Usually it got better. No. No, it was far worse. The first time he was offended. Now he was livid.

The man threw the paper down on the ground, making up his mind. He would go there and give them hell. They deserved it this time. Even if he wanted to, he would not sit for this. They were attacking not just him, but Minerva, Aberforth, even the school. It wasn't right.

The door was flung open and then shut behind him with a slam. His robes billowed behind him as he walked defiantly through the corridors. Down one flight of stairs, then another; he did not bother to stand still as they shifted. Hell, he practically hopped from the foot of the stairs to the landing.

Something, however, perhaps the only thing capable of stopping him, did as he came to the double doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: lo and behold, outside the Great Hall stood his lover, her face already tear-stained.

His immediate reaction of course was to go to her, to hold her.

"Don't," the woman hissed, shaking her head violently before he could get close.

A wave of fear flooded through him as it never had before. She once told him that he had never seen her truly angry: he had a terrifying feeling down in the pit of his stomach that he may be witnessing it right then. The tears were leaking down her face but the rest of the woman radiated with contempt.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Minerv—"

"Don't you 'Minerva' me, don't you _dare_ 'Minerva' me," her voice seemed to slither threateningly through the whole of the entryway. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard I have fought to be with you?" Her green eyes bored into his. "Do you have any idea what I have given up to be here with you?" She shook her head. She was completely in control of herself. Perhaps it would have been better if she wasn't; he could handle emotional chaos, not that purposeful hatred on her face. "It's not worth it," her voice echoed clearly.

He felt his heart tumble down his chest cavity and onto the floor. He watched it go. Then his voice. And his eyes. He seemed to watch himself from the dirty ground as he approached the woman. Merlin, she didn't mean that. She never could mean that. She would stand by him for ever and ever. Because she was the woman he loved.

His hand reached tentatively towards her face, her lovely, blotchy, broken face. Her deep, deep green eyes met his for the split second he had before her hand slapped his away.

Albus swallowed. He couldn't see through his blurry eyes. "Min," he reached out again. She slapped him harder this time. And again and again. He felt his arms smart. And then his face. His face stung where her hand hit. He didn't care. In the little clarity that he could find in his vision, his hands shot out and grabbed her wrists.

The motion seemed to stop as he blinked through the wet and stared at her. She wasn't so stoic anymore. She was a mess. A terrible mess with her hair flying everywhere, her lips in a twisted expression, the tears flowing freely, her nostrils flared. Minerva looked up at him. He had never seen her look so unhappy—that was saying something. "Let me go, Albus," she said gently. "Let me go," her voice cracked dramatically, "I can't stay here. Let me go."

For a second, he forgot to breathe. When he remembered, it came in quickly, painfully. His throat hurt already. The man swallowed; she couldn't be serious. "I can't let you go. Not because of that article."

"It's not the article," she shook her head.

"Yes it is," he reasoned. They were perfectly happy last night. Perfectly happy. "You were fine last night. The only thing that has changed is the article," the man shook his head and added with finality, "the article which you _knew_ they would write."

"_Excuse me_?" She pulled free from him and stepped back. He watched as her chest heaved up and down in those milliseconds before her retort. There was no turning back from this. "You promised me that you would protect me. You promised that it was _fine_ for me to speak to him. You _promised,_" she stamped her foot on the floor emotionally, "that all would be well. Well I'm sorry, Albus, but things are _not_ well. Things have not been well since the second that you slipped this bloody ring in my finger!" the tears drained down her cheeks.

His throat clenched tightly onto itself. She really wanted to leave.

"I cannot be with you if the last nine months is what I have to look forward to," she shook her head and threw her arms up in the air and let them drop limply. "My personal life is not some sideshow attraction. I can't." She stopped and shook her head. "I'm," she choked through the water flowing from her eyes. She shrugged. "Bye." Her eyes met his and he knew. He knew as he watched her walk through the dozens of students standing around them.

He knew that he had to follow her. In some way, this was part of the game that they were playing. She wanted to be rescued from the ice and snow again—but he would not be doing it, not then. That would happen later. He would not be stopping her from going wherever she was going: the astronomy tower, her classroom, the greenhouses. No, he would let her go on her merry way and then find her later. He would be no good to her now. Hell, he was no good to himself.

Albus inhaled, feeling the weight in his chest. His pupils refocused to look around him. Students, students everywhere and none would meet his eyes. They all seemed to look down at the ground when he came to them. Except for one: a fifth year with brown hair and a few tears in her own eyes. He blinked down a heavy tear. He couldn't hold Miss Landon's gaze.

"Albus," a deep voice came from off to the left. Rudy pushed his way through the crowd and put an arm on the man's shoulder. Albus swallowed, unsure of what else he could possibly do.

"The show is over, leave," Cora came in, barking at the whole of the students. "Off you get. Don't make me deduct house points!" she shrieked.

Various other members of the staff seemed to come in on cue, shooing the students away from the Great Hall. The man watched as Sunny and Thurston took on the students closest to the door, Cora just calling out to the whole of them. She was good at that, yelling at students. She made a good Head of House.

The man allowed Rudy to guide him to the staff room. It was a short walk. Just long enough for Albus to recount what had just happened: she left. It really happened.

He was placed in a comfortable chair next to the table. He stared at his aging hands as they rested on the tabletop until everything became blurry. Tears did that to a person.

Rudy leaned down, "I'll bring you a cup of tea."

Albus nodded his head. He knew that he was in complete control of all of his faculties: he could see and smell and touch and all it took was the thought to make it happen. Somehow he didn't feel that way, though. He felt as if he was watching himself sitting in a room, blotchy faced, waiting on a cup of tea. Shocked. Numb. Either of those terms aptly described him at that moment.

He didn't know how long he sat there, limply and didn't care much to find out.

His ears perked up when he heard Cora's voice outside the door: _"Did you see what they wrote about her? Did you see it? I don't blame her."_

_ "Where's she gone?" _asked Thurston.

_ "How the bloody hell should I know? Somewhere safe, I'd think. She wouldn't want to be followed."_

_ "Easy enough for her. She'll just transfigure herself, won't she?"_

_ "How idiotic can you be? Of course not! That's what got her into this business, isn't it?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "Do you read? Honestly."_

_ "Excuse me, you two, but has it occurred to you that he might be able to hear us?" _Sunny's voice could be heard through the door.

"_What do we do? What do we say?"_ Thurston asked gently, but still not quietly enough.

"_**You**__ don't say anything. That poor man. Love of his life just ups and leaves like that_."

Albus blinked. That was a bit much. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the door opening it quickly. He stared at his staff members, determined to keep himself in control. They all looked guilty. His eyes darted from Cora to Thurston to Sunny and then to the newly arrived Rudy with a cup of tea. "She's not gone. We'll make up," he said confidently.

The four staff members all exchanged glances. Sunny stepped up and looked at him with kind eyes, "Albus, she's left the grounds."

* * *

><p>Minerva stared up at the sign of The Hog's Head, stopping for the first time since she found herself outside the grounds. Of course she ended up there. She had to. It wasn't that it was a tavern, it was that it was Aberforth's tavern. He would tell her everything. It didn't matter that the reporters and whoever else expected her to show up there because they knew nothing of what was really happening: her world would never be the same again. She saw nothing wrong with being selfish.<p>

Her shaky hands moved slowly to her face and wiped away the tears from her raw skin. She took in a moment to look at herself, to think about the way that her whole body seemed to rock from side to side as she struggled to keep her balance. The woman knew she was a wreck, but that hardly mattered. That's what they all expected, wasn't it? After all, she was insecure and unstable.

The woman watched as her hand pressed on the latch, as her body pushed forward, as she stepped foot into the establishment; some other force was making her act, not her freewill. She looked around. It was early. Surely it wasn't open for business just yet, though that begged the question as to why the door was unlocked. "Hello?" she called gently into the empty room.

Aberforth's voice responded from the darkness, heading in her direction, "Bloody hell, do you bloody people have any sense of bloody decen—" Aberforth stopped when he realized who he was speaking to. The man cleared his throat. "This is the last place you should be today."

She shook her head. No, she was certainly in the right place. "Tell me what happened between you two," she whispered, for fear of rupturing the tear wells again.

He stared at her before acquiescing. Minerva didn't like how similar they looked right then at that second. Unlike the night before, Aberforth's eyes held a remarkable amount of sympathy. "You look like you could use a drink," he stated gently and walked behind the bar. "What do you drink?"

The woman shrugged, "Anything."

The man nodded his head and took a few bottles. Minerva stayed silent as he took off the tops and poured into a short glass. She didn't know what it was, but she wasn't about to ask, either. He was a professional, he knew what he was doing. Aberforth placed it in her shaking hand and smiled softly, "This will help with that. Take a swig."

She bobbed her head and did as the man told her. Felt like her insides were being yanked out of her throat. Wouldn't surprise her, she mused, if that was the case: her throat had to be red and swollen. Why not drink something to make it worse? Minerva blinked.

"I'll take you to the back room. They'll be looking for one if not both of us soon. We'll be safe there," Aberforth nodded. He walked away from the door and Minerva followed without much thought.

The room they ended up in was small, but cozy. A few chairs. A table. Some portraits. Minerva stared at one in particular of a little girl. She already knew who it was. It was much less instinct than deduction, but there was no doubt that those eyes belonged in the Dumbledore family. She blinked and then turned to face Aberforth who was sitting at a table.

Minerva took another sip of whatever it was that she was drinking and sat across from him. She stared at the man, waiting for him to begin his story. He, too, took a sip of his own drink which appeared to have existed prior to her unannounced entrance.

Aberforth exhaled. "That's Ariana over there. Our sister. Has he told you anything about her?"

"Just that she died. And that we would have liked each other." She swallowed her saliva, feeling a sense of foreboding in the air. It was about Ariana, of course.

"She was sick," Aberforth bobbed his head gently. "Scared. Some muggles _played_ with her when she was young. Ruined her. She couldn't do magic. Except in the way that children do it—when they're angry or sad. Then dad was sent to Azkaban," he nodded. "Muggles deserved it, if you ask me. Albus told you that much?"

"Yes," she whispered. "He died recently."

Aberforth nodded his head and spoke slowly, "And Albus had me take care of the ashes. He doesn't make for a good son, does he?"

She shook her head gently, "He thought you would want to do it."

"He just didn't want the responsibility," the man said bitterly. Aberforth took another long drink. "Albus didn't want to take care of Ariana, either. He didn't have to," he shook his head, "but no, he wanted to _pretend_ to care, to _pretend_ to be the head of the family. He left her every chance he got to go and play with Gellert Grindewald."

Aberforth smiled meanly when he saw Minerva's reaction. "Oh yes, Gellert Grindewald. He tell you that they were friends?"

Minerva nodded. He did tell her that. She had loved him for it.

"But I don't suppose he told you that they fought? That a spell rebounded and killed Ariana? It's his fault Ariana is dead."

Her hands covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a cry. Her throat tightened against her better wishes. She blinked down another tear. That was one hell of a secret. One hell of a hurtful, heartbreaking secret.

She looked across the table with steadily blurring eyes, feeling her insides crumble upon themselves again. Minerva stood up, forcing herself to stay in control. If there was one thing she wanted to do, it was sink into herself, but she would not let it happen, not then, not in that spot. She refused to lose all of her dignity in a two hour span.

Her hand picked up the glass of alcohol again. It wasn't the kind of drink that one swallows whole, but she hardly cared. Minerva brought it to her lips and felt it cascade down her sore throat. She looked at Aberforth with tired eyes, "Floo?"

He nodded and pointed in the corner.

She walked in that direction and turned to face the man before taking a handful of the powder. "Thank you for telling me."

"You deserve to know," he said gently.

"Yes," she blinked. "Yes I did." With that, she grabbed a handful of powder and then stepped into the open fireplace. She took a shaky breath before uttering the words that would get her away from that place: "McGonagall Estate".

* * *

><p>Albus took a swig of his drink, happy to feel its effects run through his body. He felt strong with it in his hand, invincible. The focus came easier, the nerves went away, the expected emotion prevailed.<p>

He looked at his staff, minus one. She wouldn't be coming back that night—that much was for certain.

The room had never been more somber, more ripened for sympathy or tears. The man met eyes with Rudy who tried to smile, but failed. This business was making everyone upset. Funny, wasn't it, the way that her departure seemed to bring down the morale of the entire staff?

The man cleared his throat loudly and stood up from his seat. He chose to stare at Cora who had shown a surprising amount of support throughout the day. She could find the strength to smile. He liked that someone could do such a thing. "Well," he said gently, "you all know what's happened. Gossip spreads quickly in this school." Albus bobbed his head slowly as his gaze shifted elsewhere. There were so many frowns on so many faces. "The problem," he swallowed, begging himself to not say her name, "is that we need to cover her classes."

Everyone seemed to exchange a simultaneous glance to their right and then left. Of course that wasn't _the_ problem, but it was a problem. It was a problem that affected the whole of the staff and school.

"With O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. around the corner," Albus pressed on, "I don't think it would be right to stop lessons for fifth and seventh years. I can find time to teach those classes," he made a weak grin. "And I can teach more if I must…but I only have so much," he breathed in deeply and exhaled on a sad, sad note, "free-time."

"I can teach classes right after lunch," Rudy said gently, "whatever classes she has."

Albus nodded. He knew Minerva's schedule without having to consult a piece of paper. "Fourth years Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday."

Rudy nodded. "I'll be there."

"I'm available right after breakfast," Cora stated gently. "And for the final period of the day."

The man was ever so grateful for that couple right then. They already had their hands full with Sergius and their own jobs, but they were good workers and cared very much about the school. Moreover, they cared about him. They were the best friends he had ever had in terms of support. He cleared his throat, "Second years in the morning on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. First years in the afternoon on those same days."

He looked around the room. There were only third years, now, to take care of. "Who is able and qualified to teach before lunch?" The whole of the staff looked from one person to another. Silence filled the room. Albus sighed. "No takers?"

No response.

"She has lesson plans," he stated gently, hoping that it would affect the silence. As it dwindled on, his heart seemed to grow heavier. Minerva always did her lesson plans in the evening. She usually brushed him off until they were complete. That's just the kind of girl she was. He swallowed down a wave of pain, knowing that his eyes could not hide what he was thinking about. "Very well," he whispered for fear that using his whole voice would set it off. "I'll do it, then.

"Is there, um," he inhaled and exhaled gently, "Questions? Any questions?"

"Sorry," Thurston scooted in his chair to make himself more obvious, as he was apt to do. "Have we heard anything from Minerva? Do we know where she is?"

Albus looked at Cora and nodded gently. Yes. Cora was the one who received the owl. Had it been sent to Albus, it certainly would have been retrieved by whoever was stalking him and Minerva.

Cora looked from Albus and then to the rest of the staff. "She's fine. Minerva didn't say where she was, we assume," she glanced at the Headmaster, "because she expects the letter to be intercepted."

"So you two…?" Thurston hoped that his lack of words would speak for themselves. They did. They most certainly did.

Albus nodded his head with a sad smile. "Only time will tell."

He looked around the table at all of the sad, sad faces. He hadn't seen so much sadness since the war. But that sorrow had never been directed his way. All he ever received was praise, joy, happiness and applause. Albus was new to this. It did not feel the least bit good. "You're all dismissed," he bobbed his head slowly.

No one moved.

To hell with that. He would move. He would leave. That was no problem at all for him.

The man turned and walked through the door. Of course there were no students. It was after hours—which was all the better, really. He walked to his chambers without any interruption of any kind. Once behind the door, the man took in a deep, deep breath and exhaled slowly. Merlin, this hurt more than he ever could have thought possible.


	20. High Expectations

**I really didn't mean to leave you all in suspense. First some terrible virus took hold of me, then surgery recovery. I apologize for the late chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: High Expectations<strong>

"_Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous. You see, Emienne, this is why we've always charmed this house. They'll write anything. Anything!_" Braxton McGonagall's voice could be heard coming from the kitchen.

Minerva leaned against the wall, her back and hands flat against it. All of her sense-energy was focused on her hearing; she saw nothing. The woman swallowed as she continued to listen to her parents' conversation. Apparently they had received the paper for the day. They surely weren't expecting her to be up just yet, or else they certainly wouldn't be talking about it. They'd hide it from her if she let her presence be known. As usual, her father was livid and her mother composed—Minerva knew precisely where her unique balance of emotions came.

"_Minerva doesn't deserve it, to be sure_."

"_Neither_ _of them do! They're both good people and have done nothing wrong and look at what the press has done to them! Look at the decisions they're forcing Minerva to make_."

"_Would you rather them live a life with __**this**_?"

"_They shouldn't have to __**make**__ that decision_!"

"_Braxton, you're grasping at straws. There is nothing that they can do about it. He will always be hounded by reporters and Minerva will be, too. Why would Minerva want that? Why would you want that for her? Nothing is going to change_."

"_Yes, but the alternati_—"

"_They've made their decision_."

There was a pause in the dialogue. Minerva imagined them looking down at their toast and munching on it as her father looked at the paper with a disgusted face. She waited patiently for more words. Instead, she found her mother's face craning the corner of the kitchen. The older woman smiled softly at her daughter. "You were a much better spy as a child."

Minerva exhaled sadly and pushed herself off of the wall. "It's the only way I know how you two really feel," she said gently.

She processed to herself what she had overheard as she followed her mother into the kitchen. They had meant it before, apparently, when they said that they liked Albus. Much like her, also, they didn't care anything for his name or title or fame. Perhaps she got that from them. Or maybe she was just less exceptional than she thought.

Minerva swallowed as her vocal chords were tapped by the memory of what she had said to the man the day before. That was all just awful. Merlin, she hated seeing his face in her mind's eye. She had broken his heart. There was no faking the pain that magically entered his eyes. Merlin.

The woman sat down at the kitchen table and looked at her father who was indeed still holding the day's paper. He raised an eyebrow. "You won't like it."

Minerva nodded. Didn't matter, now did it? "What does it say?" she shrugged, knowing that they would write exactly what happened. "That I was an embarrassment to the school? That I chose Aberforth? That it's just beginning? War between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade? That I've fled the scene of the crime?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Yes. And that you broke his heart. They're siding with him, of course."

She nodded. Of course they would. There was no way that Albus Dumbledore could lose anything, not as far as the media was concerned. Even with a broken heart, he won. What a lucky man he was. Her words could not have come out less dead, less matter-of-factly: "They've made me out to be an emotional two-timing woman. Of course they would side with him."

Her mother chose that moment to step in, perhaps sensing the subtle resentment in her voice. "You look much better today than you did when you arrived yesterday."

The girl blinked and then nodded. She felt better. Her throat hurt still and she hadn't slept enough, but then again, who would? "It helps, being away."

Emienne McGonagall nodded with understanding. "So you won't be going back?"

She stared at her mother. It was not actually a silly question, but it felt that way. Of course she wouldn't be, not then. "Not until he comes to me," she whispered softly. "It can't look like I came crawling back to him."

"What about your classes?" Braxton raised an eyebrow. "Who is teaching them?"

Minerva shrugged. She wouldn't say his name if she could help it. "He is. Probably some other qualified staff members. He's too noble to let them flail without me." She tried to smile, but found it difficult. Somehow this all felt too real. She had not expected this all to feel so real, so final. "He will take control," she nodded. "He always does."

Her parents exchanged glances. Braxton was the one to speak after what seemed like hours of subtext were exchanged in a matter of seconds. He looked at his daughter gently and spoke even gentler, "Are you sure want this?"

She had no reason to blink beyond his abruptness—her decision had been made long ago. Minerva bobbed her head. "Yes."

Emienne nodded back with finality at her husband, as if that was the end of the discussion. They were divided on the issue, that much was obvious, but that hardly mattered. What was done was done and their opinions meant nothing. The older woman turned to her daughter, "It's a nice sunny day out. Want to walk into town? It will make you happier."

"Ha," Minerva stated sarcastically. "If they don't know that I'm here now, that will surely make it apparent." She nodded softly to her mother who meant well; the woman's face had fallen, making Min feel none the better. The girl tried to explain, "I'd rather avoid them. At least," she sighed, "until they've decided to hover around the house. Then I'll gladly blow them all up."

She was no more certain about how serious that statement was than the rest of the table, which perhaps accounted for the awkward silence that fell upon them. Braxton turned to his paper with a click of his tongue, though his eyes did not seem to really be reading the words. Emienne stood up to warm up some more hot water or the like—there was really no need, but no one wanted to hurt anyone's feelings by staring at the girl.

* * *

><p>His mouth tasted dry. He hated it when his mouth tasted dry. Like a dry sponge left out until the next round of dishes, ready to take on various forms of scum, but in the meantime, sitting there soaking up all the leftover bacteria. Yes. His mouth felt dry and grainy and unpleasant.<p>

Albus stared at the rolled up Daily Prophet sitting before him on Minerva's desk. He hadn't read it and wasn't planning on reading it, he simply figured that one less copy out there was one less copy read. He had heard enough about its contents to know what was being said. They were just running with it, weren't they? Lucky for them, he had other things at the top of his priority list, the least of which included running a school without Minerva.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and then exhaled out his mouth.

She went to the Hog's Head, if the papers were to be believed (which of course he knew they weren't). But she had to go there after the previous night, after that article, didn't she? They weren't wrong this time.

What did he say to her? Albus nodded gently to himself, knowing that Aberforth would—and did—tell her whatever he had to say to cut the bonds between Minerva and her fiancé. Aberforth was protective. If nothing else, he seemed to think that Albus wasn't capable of caring for anyone. He blinked. While that may have been true once, it would never, ever, be true again. Of course that wouldn't have stopped Aberforth from saying all he had to say.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Albus looked up at the door. There stood an unnerved seventh year boy who was not particularly prone to Min's office, though Albus wasn't surprised at all to see him. Albus had already decided how he would take care of Orin. He did precisely what was expected of him, didn't he? Minerva had warned Albus about the boy. It surprised no one, really, that he should make good on the offer he gave Min.

The man blinked. Ultimately, yes, it was in fact Orin's uncle who wrote that article. He stood up from his seat. "Mr. Jenkins?"

The boy hovered below the doorway and swallowed. He looked apprehensive, which pleased Albus for some awful reason. Maybe it was the fact that the boy's pride had been shot down for once—he had every reason to feel sorry for the part he had played in all of it. "I…I wanted to…Professor, I didn't know that he would write what he did. My Uncle."

The man blinked. He willed his sense of sympathy to overcome his deep-seated hatred he had for a boy willing to sell out his professors for the sake of regaining some ill-found pride. He reminded himself of how young Orin really was. Young people do terrible, stupid, hurtful things. Orin would pay if he really thought that he had done wrong.

Albus cleared his throat and motioned towards the seat in front of the desk. "Have a seat."

Orin did so and stared at the man. He clasped his hands together, but didn't dare sit back; different demeanor than last time altogether.

"I wonder, Mr. Jenkins," Albus said slowly as he searched for the right words, "what precisely you thought your Uncle would be writing about?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted softly, a frown on his face. "Not anything like that. Not…I didn't know…" he looked around the room for the syllables, but found nothing.

Albus smiled gently and reached out his hand to the boy's shoulder. He wouldn't have known the game he was getting into by tipping off his relation. Albus blamed Orin much less than he did his uncle. "You couldn't have known," he whispered softly, reminding himself unwittingly of the deep pain he felt in his chest. "You could not have known that anything that's happened within the last forty-eight hours would have transpired."

The boy nodded slowly. "I _am_ sorry. I just…I want you to know that I didn't say any of the things in yesterday's article."

He stared at the boy with scrutiny. That was surprising. If it wasn't Orin, then that means it was someone else. What an awful idea. His voice came out gently, "You didn't?"

"No," he shook his head. "I think that Professor McGonagall is a really good teacher. And you."

An involuntary twitch seemed to find its way to his mouth as he took in this compliment. That was both the nicest thing he had ever heard from that boy's lips and the most inappropriate. Orin had been there yesterday, in the crowd of students. The boy knew exactly what had happened. "Yes," he said as his stomach seemed to drop, "yes, she is a good teacher. And a good person. If we're lucky enough to get her back," Albus swallowed, "I would try to convince my fellow classmates of it."

Orin nodded solemnly. "She might not be coming back?"

Albus stared at the boy, unsure of what he ought to say. She would come back. Minerva had to come back; at least to the school. She would not throw away her dream of being a teacher, of being near children because of that article, because of the lies. "I think," he sighed, "that returning might be hard for her."

The man's ears perked up as he recognized some noises outside the office. Someone else was in the vicinity. He looked at Orin and then out the door. He didn't see anyone. The man stood up and walked to it, peeked outside the threshold. There was no reason at all that he should be surprised to see Kate Landon, but he was. Maybe it was the fact that seeing Kate and Orin in the same area was a rare occurrence these days.

The girl looked up at him with sad eyes. "Sorry Professor. I'll come back," she nodded gently.

Albus shook his head. "Mr. Jenkins and I are nearly finished, if you'd like to wait out here."

The girl bobbed her head gently and placed her book bag down.

"I'll only be a few minutes," he said kindly and then turned around to walk back into the office of Minerva McGonagall. Orin was no longer seated, but standing respectfully.

Orin nodded politely. "Thank you for listening, Professor."

"I wouldn't be a teacher if all I taught you was how to speak," he sighed. "I'll see you in class."

"Yes," the boy said, the heaviness of the word falling on them like fog. There was no choice now, was there? Albus was the only one who could teach that class with Minerva gone. They were still on their animagus unit, of all things.

With that, Orin turned around and left the office. Albus followed, if only to welcome Kate in. The poor thing was leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees—she didn't even see Orin as he walked away.

Kate was a favorite of Minerva's. There was little doubt as to why she would be stopping by at such a time. He looked down at the thing and smiled as best he could, "Ready?"

She nodded and walked into the office, taking the seat previously occupied by Orin. Albus took his designated seat. "What brings you here, Miss Landon?"

The girl stared up at him, probably daring herself to say what she really wanted to say. She was in a strange position, relationship-wise, to the situation. It wouldn't surprise him if Min and Kate had had tea once or twice, if they had chatted about things personal. Kate was one of those girls on the grounds who were enchanted by the idea of Albus and Minerva being together.

Kate's voice was small. "You don't know if she'll be back?"

Albus exhaled. He knew Kate had heard at least some of that, if not all. "I believe that she will, but I cannot know anything," he said calmly. "At the moment," he nodded, "we know next to nothing about her whereabouts or plans."

Her face drew on an air of sadness, her mouth shifting downward. "That's awful. For you."

He closed his eyes and swallowed sadly. When he opened them again, he found it difficult to speak. Lucky for him, Kate didn't ask for any more words. She said gently to him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. Those articles are just…awful."

Albus nodded, "All lies."

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly.

"Thank you," he whispered back. The man glanced down at his pocket-watch evasively, then back up at the girl. Thank Merlin. "Better go. Lunch is almost over. You've got classes."

"Yes," Kate nodded her head. "Good luck," she said gently as she sat up from the chair.

"Thank you, Miss Landon."

Albus watched as the girl turned and walked out of the room. He waited in his chair for a few seconds, wanting to be sure that no one else would be coming before swishing his wand at the door. He felt no satisfaction from the slam it made.

* * *

><p>Minerva looked up at the clock: it was nearly one a.m. Her eyes drifted lazily back down to the fire, or at least what was left of the fire. She wiped her eyes, red and leaking—she blamed the flames, of course.<p>

She curled closer into herself on the armchair.

He wouldn't be coming that night. But then, she did not expect him, not really. Minerva just hoped, hoped to see him that Monday evening. She wondered what he was doing, what he was thinking. Surely he couldn't be thinking about anything but her, much like she couldn't stop thinking about him. Maybe she just had too much free time to herself.

Merlin.

It wasn't just him in the physical sense, though inwardly she craved to be held by him; she thought of him in every sense: past, present, future. She wrapped her mind around what Aberforth had to say and the way that he said it. Of course it was all true; if it had been true in December, it surely was true now. Aberforth could not have known that she already knew the truth when she came to him yesterday. He could not have known that Albus told her months ago, before the New Year came.

It was not long after they sat there on the edge of the astronomy tower in deep conversation that he told her—and the setting was no less intimate. He prepared her well, of course, letting her know that he thought the world of her and wanted to keep her, therefore he was sharing with her his deepest secret. In her flat, on the bed where they first made love as adults, he told her everything. He made note of his youth and thirst for power, of his hatred for those who harmed his sister, of his awe and friendship of Gellert Grindewald. He spoke of his remorse of course for doing it, but also for keeping it from her. He let her know of the difficulty he had, finding a moment to admit it all. Above all, he stressed the value he placed upon her—he had never told anyone, he said, and would not have told her had he not a) loved her and b) known that she would understand. Indeed she at least sympathized.

He was good to give her a window to think about it, to come to terms with the truth. They did not spend New Year's Eve with one another. He found a party somewhere private and she stayed home. Of course her parents asked questions, but they ultimately gave up when she refused to tell them: perhaps the best thing about her parents is that they trusted their daughter. It was not until the third that they spoke again, Albus and Minerva. She wrote him, as they agreed would happen, and they met to discuss it again, to discuss them. That's what breaks were for, right?

She found it easier to forgive him than she would have thought. Maybe it was the fact that she had made some truly stupid decisions as a teenager as well. Or maybe it was just that she was desperately in love with him. In any case, the mystery had been solved. She understood why Albus and Aberforth were not close. She understood why Percival Dumbledore's ashes were not collected by the eldest son. She understood why there was a mystery at all. And Albus had been right about one thing: forgiveness _was_ something that came to her easily.

Thus they sat together at a muggle ice cream parlor and were not only friends, but lovers again. There were no secrets between them. None. Minerva was certain of this. That was what drove her on, what led her to wait by the fire at some ungodly hour for the man. He wanted her. And would come for her. That was the expectation.

"What are you doing down here?" a soft voice came somewhere behind the armchair on which Minerva rested.

She looked up, not surprised at all to see her mother. Minerva didn't bother to say anything, for the woman already knew. Emienne McGonagall had a knack for guessing things, or rather, for discerning things via intuition. She took a seat on the settee next to the armchair, though she didn't look comfortable, and stared at her daughter with a thoughtful expression. "You said it wouldn't be for a few days."

"It won't," Minerva nodded her head. "I just like to hope."

"And damage yours eyes, no doubt," her mother raised an eyebrow.

Minerva knew her mother was right, but couldn't very well admit it. "It's fine. I'm not staring directly into the flames. I was taught better than that," she smiled gently.

The older woman shifted into a less static position, allowing her head to rest against the edge of the settee's padding. That seemed to help her somewhat reserved demeanor. Emienne smiled kindly, "Yes you were. I would have also thought that you'd have some sort of notion of what a suitable bedtime is." The woman continued to smile gently. She was just poking fun at her daughter, though the message of course was a serious one.

"I have a notion," she nodded, "I just choose to ignore it. In the name of love," she added softly, "Or something like it."

"You were always a romantic like that. Even as a child. You'd be playing with dolls and have to transfigure cages and motes and who knows what else in order to rescue the princess—not that we ever told you that no such spell existed," she grinned as parents grin when their children do something amusing. "Don't know where you got such ideas."

"Muggle neighbors," Min admitted softly. "The ones who were sent off to…what do they call it, boarding school?"

Emienne bobbed her head and said, "That's right. Sent them off too young, if you ask me. Children have to be children as long as they can be. Unless they refuse to," the woman seemed to search around for a thought, "like you. You were finished with dolls before you were six. Moved on to broomsticks and books after that."

Minerva stared at her mother. It was true. Minerva had always been interested in growing up more than she was in being a child. There was a world of competition out there, of life, that went beyond dolls and tights and knights. There were people and things that would make her smarter, happier, better. For some reason that had always (at least subconsciously) been her way of looking at the world. Perhaps that explained a lot about her.

The girl blinked, a thought occurring to her. It felt like the appropriate time, the appropriate night to admit what had only recently become acceptable to admit. She had not planned on saying it, still, it came out with relative ease. The guilt really was gone. "I wanted to be better," she claimed gently.

"You were always ahead of everyone else,"Emienne blinked. "But I suppose I can blame your father and myself for that. We taught you to be ambitious."

She nodded her head. "You did," Minerva whispered, "so ambitious that I should choose someone like Albus Dumbledore."

Emienne stared at her daughter for a second longer than expected before nodding.

"Mum," the girl sighed, unafraid to say what she had to say, "Do you remember that winter my seventh year when I came home and you kept asking me what was wrong?" Minerva swallowed. She was not nearly the wreck she had been, but she was nowhere near normal. She had been secluded and on the mend, little could anyone else know.

Her mother looked confused at the seemingly abrupt change in subjects, but nodded. "I do. Why?"

Okay, so perhaps it would not be so easy to tell her mother. She stopped, jaw half-open, and looked upon her mother who thought nothing but the best of her and Albus. Minerva was not so certain that telling the truth would explain the decisions she was making. Still. If it solved everything for her, surely it would solve everything for her mother. Minerva swallowed, "I was heartbroken. My first real relationship had just ended." She paused as she watched the look of confusion grow on the woman's face. And then it was less confused, somehow, as it all seemed to dawn on her.

"I didn't know you had a beau," Emienne said slowly.

"I didn't," she whispered, "I had Albus."

Minerva stared at her mother closely as her face went pale and her mouth opened then closed. The woman sank deeper into the settee. She inhaled and exhaled loudly; that sigh sought no attention for it had only to do with subtle shock. It was several seconds before Emienne blinked, her eyelashes fluttering quickly as she attempted to come into focus. The woman swallowed calmly as her daughter became clear again.

The girl's heart thudded quickly within her chest as she anticipated some sort of response from her usually reserved, quiet mother. She was afraid.

Emienne licked her lips. "How?" she whispered as she tried to put all the pieces together.

Easy answer; both a blessing and a curse on every front possible. Her voice came out matter-of-factly. "After I became an animagus, I could go throughout the castle without being detected."

"So you didn't…you learned in the fall?" the woman blinked.

Minerva nodded, "It didn't take long. Mid-October."

"And you and Albus?"

The girl cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Around that time, yes."

The perplexed expression on Emienne's face did not go away as she stared at her daughter with wide eyes. She inhaled and exhaled loudly. Of course she would not accept all of this without thought. It certainly changed things. It had to, didn't it?

"I have been in love with Albus," Minerva shrugged, "since I was a student. Right or wrong, that's the reality of it. I know," she stared at her mother, "that you two have mixed opinions of what is happening, but I have no qualms. I can't…" she looked for the right words, "I will not change my mind. Ever."

Emienne nodded slowly. "That's a lot of information to be fed at one in the morning."

It occurred to Minerva that what made the timing of this conversation perfect was what also made it horrible. The girl sighed, "I'm sorry. I just…I had to tell you," she nodded, certain that she had done the right thing. "I needed you to know why we have to do things the way that we are."

"I see," her mother pursed her lips together. "Well that certainly helps to explain things."

"What are you two doing up at this hour?"

Panic swept over Minerva as she looked in the corner to find her father, heading in their direction. She didn't want her father to hear of this. Not yet. There was a reason she waited for her mother to be alone. She turned towards her mother, a plea in her eyes. Emienne nodded in her daughter's direction.

"I came out to see how our daughter was doing. We've been having a nice chat about growing up," she smiled at her husband. The woman's body shifted up out of the settee as her other half came to it. "It's time for bed now, though." She looked at her daughter with eyebrows raised, "You'll be going to bed soon, won't you?"

"Yes," Min nodded and sat up from her spot. "Goodnight," she smiled softly.

"Goodnight, "Braxton nodded. "Get some sleep."

"I will," she whispered.

Minerva watched as her parents walked in the direction of their room together and let out a deep exhalation. It had never occurred to her how much better she would feel if she told her parents. There was something to be said about letting out secrets to people that matter.

Maybe that's how Albus had felt.

She turned to look back at the flames as she made her way to exit the room. They were still empty. They would stay that way, wouldn't they? Tonight was not the night for that. It would happen. Not then, though.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R Please? Thanks for reading.<p> 


	21. Love & War

**Chapter Nine: Love & War**

Good for him. Bertie had finally done something genuine for his friends, something worthy without expecting anything to reward him. Except perhaps money, Albus pondered. They may have bribed him to say something. It hardly mattered, really. After all, it was all in their favor, his and Minerva's. What a pleasant surprise.

Of course Albus had not planned on reading Enchantment Weekly, but somehow Cora of all people talked him into it at breakfast. _"You won't regret it_," she had said. As ill-advised as it may have seemed on the outset to be looking at a publication that dealt with mostly libel and gossip, the Headmaster found himself glad that he took the word of his staff member. His faith in humanity shifted ever so slightly for the positive as he looked over the cover article.

His fingers clenched the edges of the magazine as he reread the supposed words of Berthold Rhytherton. The captions at the top read clearly:

_A letter, not responded to by the Daily Prophet._

So the wording could have been better, but the point was made. Berthold had written the Prophet. It was no surprise that they would fail to publish such a thing, considering the fact that he more or less called them fallacious dolts—which of course was an apt title.

He smiled softly at the gesture that Berthold had put forth.

_Dear Editor,_

_ As part of the second party involved with this smut you've written of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, I am utterly appalled at the hellacious libel seen in your newspaper. Not only do you have your facts wrong, but your insinuations are astronomically absurd. There is no war between brothers, let alone Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, nor is there any reason to doubt Minerva's faithfulness to Albus. Never have I seen a more devoted couple, which is saying something, considering the fact that I am myself a newlywed._

_ Minerva McGonagall is one of the sweetest creatures on this Earth, and for you to flaunt lies of her should earn you a date with a curse. She would do nothing to harm anyone, let alone her fiancé. The fact that she has remained quiet throughout all of this muck you've published only shows how calm and reserved she is, because you can bet had it been me, I'd have blown you and your office to pieces. _

_ You insinuate that Albus Dumbledore is making a bad decision by marrying Miss McGonagall on several fronts. Well I put it to you that he knew of all of her flaws before dating, let alone proposing to her. What did you do? Skim some of the most important work that has been on animagi and think that good? Their brilliant minds will find discoveries that you can only dream of. Do you suppose that her unresolved research is going to stop them from continuing? By tearing apart this couple on ungrounded fronts, you are in effect destroying the future we all could have. Congratulations._

_ I sincerely hope that you stop this story. You do no one any good by continuing, least of all yourself. _

_Respectfully,_

_Berthold Rhytherton_

Albus stared at the word "respectfully" with a slight grin on his face. He had not had a grin for nearly forty-eight hours, but that ending to a letter that was anything but respectful made him genuinely happy. Perhaps Berthold was a good man to have in his friend arsenal. If nothing else, he seemed to have loyalty…and a keen sense of irony.

The man let out a gentle sigh. He had better write Berthold, let him know of the true events that had recently occurred. Bertie certainly knew that the Daily Prophet was lying. Setting him straight could not be wrong at all, not after a letter like that.

He stood up from his seat in the Great Hall, not bothering to look out at the students.

He had heard enough from them for the day to know all other news floating around the wizarding world. Not having read the Daily Prophet, he thought it a moot gesture when the hearsay seemed to say only that it was confirmed that Minerva had gone and that she was most likely at her home, though some seemed in favor of her running away with Aberforth.

Turning the corner out of the Great Hall, Albus couldn't help but allow a smile to cross his lips. It was funny, really, that anyone should think that she would go to Aberforth. Or rather, it was interesting that anyone would think that she _wouldn't_ go to her parents. Of course that's where she went. Any person who knew Minerva would know that was the only destination she would go. They were everything to her. Shows what the press knows.

"Headmaster!"

Albus looked behind him to see whose call he heard. He was hardly surprised when he put facial recognition to voice recognition. The man waited patiently for the woman to arrive before nodding respectfully, "Cora. Read it. You were right." He took in her self-congratulatory expression. He pressed on, "I don't regret it one bit."

Cora smiled back softly with that hint of superiority in her eye, "I told you."

"Indeed you did," he bobbed his head. "Walk with me." The man began walking again in the direction of his own office, knowing that Cora was surely heading to Minerva's morning class. The woman walked alongside him without a complaint. "How was it yesterday?" he glanced over.

"Good," the woman asserted confidently. "There were a lot of questions being asked, of course, but it went well. How are you getting on?" she asked without missing a beat.

He shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it for multiple reasons. "Could be better. Could be worse."

It was funny that Cora wouldn't respond to that. Maybe she just had no words to combat it. Or maybe the woman simply had something else on her mind. She skipped a few sentences of what he thought would follow in the conversation, "If I were you, I would be a wreck. You're doing an amazing job of keeping your composure."

Albus shrugged again, "I am a master of such things." He knew he was being evasive but it was appropriate. He didn't want to and couldn't talk about it.

Cora stared at him and then stopped. Albus stopped as well, acknowledging that perhaps something was wrong. The woman frowned, "You don't seem upset at all, not anymore."

"My position demands that I function like a professional," he stated automatically. He had hidden behind this excuse before on multiple occasions. The one that seemed most pertinent, of course, was the last bout he had with Minerva. He let her go on those same grounds to save his credibility and his job. Ah, but he would not make that mistake again. Instead, he chose to gauge things and hide behind his seemingly professional manner until something could be done.

The flying instructor hissed back, "You're letting that poor girl suffer, you know that, don't you?"

Albus blinked and let out a sigh. He stared at the woman, allowing his stoic demeanor to melt. He felt everything soften. "I am giving her time," he nodded gently. "Do I miss her?" Albus swallowed, hardly seeing the reason for answering the rhetorical question, "Of course. How could I not? But she needs her space to decide what she wants. She would never forgive me if I coaxed her into coming back when she didn't want to."

Cora listened intently, her face softening ever so gently. Her voice was not harsh, "What if she doesn't come back? Then what?"

"She'll come back," Albus bobbed his head slowly. "Minerva will come back and teach."

"Will she come back to you?" she raised an eyebrow.

He had no answer for her just then. His response admitted it, "I'll let you know next week when she's back."

"I don't understand," Cora shook her head, "Why are you so certain that she'll return at all?"

He couldn't tell her that.

The man inhaled and pursed his lips to the side, "Call it a hunch."

The scuffling of students' feet seemed to fall upon their ears. He nodded at the woman and she nodded back. The conversation was finished. They walked side by side down the corridor in silence until they came to the point of separation. Cora made her way to Minerva's transfiguration classroom while he went in the direction of his office.

The man stopped short as he came to the bottom of the stairs and blinked. "Raspberry jam," he said half-heartedly.

It's the only thing Min would eat on toast.

* * *

><p><em>"Are these all yours?" Min asked in awe as she stared at his personal library. It would have been impressive to her, even with what must be an extensive collection at home. An entire wall in one's quarters surely was impressive.<em>

_ Albus smiled, more enchanted than anything else by her excitement. "Yes. Years of collecting, and that's what I've got to show."_

_ The woman reached up and pulled out one of his anthologies. He paid little attention to which it was or where in it she flipped. What caught the man's eye was everything else: where and how she stood, the firelight as it flickered across her face, the smile on her lips, the unabashed way she seemed to occupy his quarters. She was lovely, but young; intelligent, but naïve; fearful, but brave. He knew deep down that he could not keep her. Perhaps that's what made this night so…well, poignant. _

_ He wanted her Hogwarts robes off of her skin—if they weren't there, then perhaps his shame would go away. Perhaps they could be anything but what they were. They could be anyone. He could be a lowly Ministry worker and she could be a writer, an auror, anything but a student. It would be acceptable for them to be together, wouldn't it? No one would think twice about her entering his rooms after hours. _

_ "You've worked with Archibald Mason?" she looked from the pages to him, wonderment in her eyes._

_ The man took a few steps towards the girl and looked over her shoulder to see what it was that she found. She smelled like lavender. He looked at the title: __**The Value of**__**Acromantula Venom**__. "I did for a short while," he nodded. "We didn't get on too well, though. He was never happy unless he had some sort of injury. And with the state of magic being what it is, no sooner would I apply some essence of dittany than he would go out in search of something to break his leg on, including Acromantula pincers."_

_ Minerva looked up at him, no less impressed. "I see you made it out without a scratch."_

_ "Yes," he bobbed his head, "but old Archie hasn't."_

_ She frowned, "What do you mean?"_

_ Albus shrugged, "Bogart. Scared him right off of a cliff."_

_ A nod was all he received as she closed the book decisively and placed it back on the shelf. Of course she wouldn't want to talk about that sort of thing. He didn't either. Seemed that many of the people that he worked with had a habit of dying prematurely—either that or they lived for ever. _

_ The woman's hand drifted over title after title in his library before pulling out another book. It was small, much smaller than nearly everything else. A smile came on her face as she flipped through __**The Wizard and the Hopping Pot**__. Without looking up, she whispered softly, "Never going to grow up, are you?"_

_ "I'm plenty grown-up when I need to be. Same as you," he said without trying to make too fine a point on the truth. _

_ Her eyes darted up to his. Her voice drifted to his ears, "Is that a hint, Professor?" she raised an eyebrow._

_ He inhaled slowly, catching a whiff of her lavender scent. He shook his head. This wasn't about sex; wasn't about anything at all, except spending time with one another. "No. But I was thinking," he whispered as he slid his arms around her waist, "that I might work with you on something academic after you've left. We would make a good team," he winked. _

_ "Ah, so you're looking for an…academic partner?" the girl winked back._

_ The man gave a laugh. It was beyond him why she would be so good for him, but he did not want to ask questions. He was simply thankful to have her and her sense of humor. "Seriously," he chuckled. "We ought to work together. Maybe write a paper on becoming an animagus."_

_ Minerva wrapped her arms around his neck playfully, a fire of sorts burning in her eye. Her voice was sweet, "Perhaps. How else will I earn enough fame and fortune to be invited to teach when you're promoted?" _

_ A grin spread over his face. Her ambition was something to behold. "I would ask you simply based on your performance here." He paused before adding, "And the fact that you're an animagus. There aren't many of you, you know."_

_ She nodded her head and placed the book face down on the shelf before returning her hand behind his neck. He watched her every move and was mesmerized, whether or not he wanted to be. She was graceful, even doing something as simple as putting a book back. Her beautiful green eyes stared into his blue ones. "No," she shook her head. "Not many of us at all. I suppose I should thank you for your lessons."_

_ His response came with little thought, "I would do anything for you, Minerva. You know that, don't you?"_

_ Other girls would have been swept off their feet by something like that. They would melt and let it be known. Minerva was not like that, though. This girl knew that she was too vulnerable, so she made an effort to fight it. "No you wouldn't," she shook her head. "If that were true, we would not be sneaking around like we are."_

_ What could he say to that? _

_ Albus moved his head up and down slowly. "It's for both our sakes." Of course she knew that. None of their arrangement would ever have worked if she wasn't able to understand such a thing. Naturally, he understood where her feeling of resentment came. There were days where he could see the pain in her eyes; especially when they were in class, even more so when boys attempted to flirt with her. She was not free and that was his doing. _

_ His stomach dropped ever so slightly when he saw her smile fade. The girl nodded her head and whispered, "I know."_

_ He was not being fair. Albus knew that he had far more to lose than she ever would, being in that relationship. She kept quiet because she loved him, because she was absolutely, totally and completely devoted to him. She said nothing because the second that she did would be tantamount to ruin, to separation. Why is it that Albus said nothing? It was out of love, certainly, but some days he wondered if it was more out of love for himself than the woman. If he really loved her, then wouldn't he stop her from suffering? These are the terrible thoughts that plagued his mind as he ran a thumb along the side of her cheek and her arms pulled his head closer to hers._

* * *

><p>Minerva's eyes fluttered open. She wiped the saliva off of the side of her face as she sat up in the armchair. Why did she insist on sleeping like that? It just made all of her hurt to sleep on her side in that chair. She wasn't small enough to fit in the seat anymore, not in her human form, anyhow. The pain down her neck was awful.<p>

She sighed.

The fire was nearly out. What did that make it? Three, four? Merlin, that means that she was laying there for five hours. It was stupid, absolutely stupid for her to be waiting there for Albus. She knew he wouldn't be coming, but she had to wait, didn't she? She had to hope that he would come a day early. It wasn't that she was needy, she wasn't falling to pieces, she just wanted some reassurance that all was going well on his end.

The Daily Prophet featured the normal amount of insinuations, although it appears that this time they had gone after Aberforth. Poor man had to shut down his pub and yell at the world. She didn't want to bring him into it, but there was no choice, was there? She felt dirty for doing that to him.

Minerva bit her lip as she stared at the slowly burning embers. Her mind drifted to the not long distant past.

_"Did you expect him to be there?" she asked him pensively, the heat of her voice mingling with the soft fumes from the hot bath and candlelight. She was not accusing him so much as she was thinking over his expectations versus her own. _

_ His warm breath caressed the back of her ear as she waited for his response, his fingers tightening gently around her wrists. "No," he said gently, "I didn't expect him to be there."_

_ She wasn't sure if she believed him or not. It seemed far too coincidental to have been an accident and only an accident. The woman reminded herself, however, that it was Berthold that chose everything, including the date and venue; Albus could not have had a hand in any of it, not really. "You didn't seem surprised."_

_ Albus cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Aberforth lives in Hogsmeade. It isn't strange to see him outside of the pub."_

_ "You let me think that it was acceptable to speak with him."_

_ "It is," he whispered and then kissed her softly somewhere in the back of her head. "I have no qualms with you two speaking."_

_ Minerva had a sneaky suspicion that had this encounter taken place three, four months ago, the story would have been different. Albus would have kept Aberforth from her. He would have done anything to keep that story away from her. It was smart of the man to tell her when he did. Ah, but now, now it was perfectly acceptable for them to be friendly, since she knew everything there was to know. "And what if he should tell me something that you don't wish me to hear?"_

_ He was cool in his response, "He has nothing to tell you that I have not already told you."_

_ "No? Nothing?" she raised an eyebrow. It was not that she did not believe him. It was more that she knew him, knew how easily lying had sometimes come to him. Moreover, he knew that if she believed him, there would be no more questions asked. Sometimes she wondered who was doing the playing._

_ The man leaned forward by her ear and whispered softly, "No." He slid his fingers through hers and squeezed. His soft manner drowned away the uneasiness that was befalling her. He had nothing but good intentions. He, too, wanted to see the end of the madness. "I have told you everything there is to know."_

_ A smile crept on her lips. She turned ever so slightly to the side and allowed her lips to touch his. There was something both exciting and terrifying about conspiring the way that they were. Minerva did not know how it would turn out, but they had considered everything they could possibly consider. At least before tonight._

_ When their lips parted she looked at him carefully. Her voice made her sound much surer of things than she really was. "This changes things," she whispered matter-of-factly. _

_ "Yes," he nodded, knowing that she was referring to Aberforth._

_ She shifted her body forward, taking note of the predictable way the water shifted within the tub. The woman faced the man, her ankles resting somewhere to the side of his bum. She swallowed, then spoke seriously, "What will they say, do you think?"_

_ Albus let out a heavy sigh. "Everything they can, I'd wager," the man nodded. He would know, wouldn't he? Her experience certainly had shown that they would stop at nothing. The man merely confirmed her suspicion. He frowned, "I'm afraid to say that they'll probably attack you, Min."_

_ Her next question was really futile, for she knew the answer already. Still, she felt it necessary to ask it, to confirm what she already knew. She blinked, aware of the way that the steam and smoke seemed to be affecting her eyes—which of course they did on purpose. "Why not you?"_

_ "Because it would do them no good to attack me," he admitted softly. It was true, wasn't it? The great Albus Dumbledore was not to be toyed with, not now. He was still at the peak of his fame—not that Minerva ever supposed it would die out. Albus was brilliant. Always had been, always would be. The man went on calmly, almost casually, "They'll make some story about how you're playing me against Aberforth and Berthold. About how you're using me. About how you're using everyone. They'll finish off by telling everyone to 'save the date' for it will surely be the ruin of the wizarding world."_

_ The woman couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "Sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think?"_

_ He shrugged, "The Daily Prophet loves to be dramatic. They'll find a way to scandalize the both of us. Maybe others," he bobbed his head. His eyes shifted down to the clean water, his fingertips sliding from her toes up to her knee. She watched it, a hint of a grin playing at her lips. She wasn't sure if she was being seduced or tickled. Perhaps he was simply in his own world. His eyes flicked up to meet hers as a thought occurred to the man, "That was Orin's uncle?"_

_ "Yes," she moved her head up and down. There was no doubt about it, none at all. "Recognized him from some old articles in the Daily Prophet."_

_ Albus chuckled at that, for some reason, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "Looked him up in the library did you?"_

_ She didn't find it funny. She had prepared herself, as she was keen to do when going to war with The Daily Prophet. "Yes," she said seriously despite his grin. "Even if I hadn't," she challenged him, certain that she was the only one of the two of them who could have noticed such a detail of their night, "Orin is the spitting image of him. I would have known."_

_ He challenged her back, as he was keen to do when getting to the bottom of things. "Did you notice him at all while we were there?" he asked seriously. _

_ Minerva's head fell back against the metal of the tub as she sucked in the warm air. Her mind ran through the evening's events. She would have taken real notice if he was out in the open. She was prepared for this evening on all fronts. It appears that Archimedes Jenkins was prepared to go unseen, at least until a moment of his choosing. _

_ The woman let out a sigh when she realized she had no clue as to what he heard or saw. She lifted her head back up to look at her lover, "No. He probably overheard the whole of our conversation," she admitted sadly._

_ His head bobbed in agreement, "It's likely. But we expected someone to make an appearance." _

_ He was right, of course. That was the plan. They left the castle for a reason. He smiled reassuringly in her direction, "I don't think anything too private was said."_

_ Her mouth twitched at that. She leaned forward and spoke slowly, "Funny, I could have sworn that I heard you tell me about how you thought of me on the front, how you wanted to write me but didn't—"_

_ "That was before people came," he said with certainty, "The only one in our vicinity was the waitress."_

_ Minerva thought back to the validity of that statement. He was wrong, she realized. Albus Dumbledore was really quite wrong. Her stomach sunk. "There was a man who was sleeping not too far from us."_

_ A look of panic dawned on the man's face. "Was that him?"_

_ She swallowed and shook her head, "Couldn't tell. I never noticed him look up." In all truth, Minerva did not pay much attention to the man in the corner, despite what they anticipated. She was too wrapped up in the information that her lover was feeding her. He was wooing her, after all._

_ "Let's hope that it wasn't him, then," Albus nodded his head softly with a reassuring smile. He did not seem completely convinced with himself, though. He let out a sigh, "It would be shame for that sort of thing to get out. Soldier on the front pining away for a girl."_

_ Interesting way to put it; putting it that way almost made it sound acceptable. She raised an eyebrow, "A student."_

_ Albus shook his head, "Not by then."_

_ "Doesn't matter," she shook her head in the same manner. She knew them better than that. Minerva had little faith in the press after the first time their names appeared next to one another. That's why this whole thing came about, after all. She looked at him seriously, "They can make their own context. And will. I assume the article will be out tomorrow?" she raised an eyebrow._

_ "Sunday paper?" he nodded. "Yes, I would think so."_

_ She let out an antsy sigh. She was nervous about it, of course. Minerva did not lie. She did not trick. She did not run. Somehow all of what rested before them made her uncomfortable, or at least fearful. She shifted herself along the tub back into his arms, this time facing the man. She slid her arms around his neck while his slid around her back comfortably. She was thankful for his blue eyes right then. She whispered meekly, "How does this affect the plan?"_

_ A short pause fell upon the room as a dripping hand slid along the nape of her neck and into her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying the man's touch and the sensation it produced. He made her feel calm, even when her heart was racing and she was upset. His voice drifted into her ears suggestively, "Perhaps you go to Aberforth."_

_ Her eyes flicked open. No, no she did not want to do that at all. "Aberforth?" she looked at him fearfully._

_ "He will give you a reason to stay gone," he spoke calmly and then added, "At least until I find you."_

_ Minerva did not understand, not at all. This suggestion made her panic. She felt her back stiffen as her hand shifted from his neck to his shoulders as she gripped them. The woman hissed at him, "What use will Aberforth be? They'll just overhear whatever it is that he has to say."_

_ "They won't find you that quickly," he shook his head. _

_ Her shoulders slowly released the tension. She swallowed. This was true. She would be quick, quicker than they could ever be. The only way that they would be quicker would be if there was some help from staff. Merlin knows the staff had some of the best people in the world. Albus was right; no chance of them finding her. Still, she did not see the point. "So why go?"_

_ Albus's reason made her feel better. It was nice to see him have his brother in mind. "If the reporters come his way, he will tell them the truth," he nodded, "They'll think that the spat is real."_

_ She liked that. She liked that a lot. Her lips drifted upward before she leaned in to peck him softly on the lips. "And spare Aberforth?"_

_ "As best we can," he nodded._

_ She leaned forward and pecked him again. _

_ His eyes stared into hers after the kiss, a smile playing at his own lips. Their conversation wasn't over just yet, though. The hand that had previously been resting in her hair drifted back down to the low of her back. She felt herself being stabilized against him. He whispered cautiously, "Just be sure to be seen in Edinburgh."_

_ "I will," she bobbed her head in agreement. This was key, she knew. They had to know where to go, didn't they? Surely they'll have people to tattle, even if the isn't big enough news to have people skulking around. There would be no question as to the state she would appear to be in when they came upon her presence. Minerva told him precisely what he wanted to hear, "They'll be certain that I'm dying from a broken heart. I'm sure there's something I can feed myself to make me tear up."_

_ He bit his lip to hide his amusement at the thought, "Yes. Lots of things. Just carry an onion with you."_

_ She laughed even as she said the words, "I think they'll see through that."_

_ "Certainly," he chuckled back. Minerva liked how his whole body shook as he laughed. The water shifted from side to side and then became calm again. The man spoke frankly after the laughter had died, "But yes, there are things we will give you to make you cry on cue. There will not be any doubt that we are having a rough time."_

_ She nodded. Of course they had many choices for her to make it look like she had been crying, even things to make her cry. Somehow she didn't think that it would be difficult for she expected the worst out of The Daily Prophet. That was much less her worry about the whole adventure than the to-do involved with it. She frowned ever-so-slightly, knowing precisely what her lover would respond with. She cleared her throat, "My father won't like them crawling around the estate."_

_ Albus did not disappoint. They had already been over this. He nodded his head sadly, "It's a necessary evil."_

_ She bobbed her head gently. Speaking of the estate and necessary evils, there was the ultimate evil, the ultimate dupe that needed to be confirmed. Minerva let out a sigh, "When shall I expect you to make your grand entrance?"_

_ He leaned his head back in thought and then snapped it forward. He was certain in his response. "Saturday, I think. They'll post it the following Sunday."_

_ "And it will be all over?" she asked with hope. _

_ "So far as they know, yes. Yes, they will," he whispered with a smile which grew upon noticing hers. He added softly, "Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall will no longer be a couple. All will be over."_

_ She nodded, but second-guessed herself. Minerva pursed her lips. "This seems far too contrived."_

_ His hands shifted upwards along her back, pulling her entire body closer to him. He knew well what was racing through her mind. "Forgive me, my dear, but it was your plan." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "And a damn good one, at that. You've no need to second-guess yourself," he stopped and then added the most important thing he could tell her, "Or be afraid."_

_ Acknowledging it made it better. His hot breath against her ear and his strong hands along her back made the fear go away completely. He was wonderful for her. Her response amused her more than it amused him. Her eyebrows rose as a form of challenge, "You'll be the one who is afraid."_

_ "Oh?" he smiled._

_ She winked. "You've never seen me angry. I'll be sure and let you experience that before the wedding."_

_ The man chuckled. It wasn't funny, but it certainly was on some level. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn't real, not really. He winked back, up for the chase, "I hope you do your worst."_

_ "I shall," Minerva nodded. "I shall," she whispered for effect into his ear._

_ He responded appropriately, of course, as his lips shifted onto her pale neck, his fingers trailed down her back. She gladly moved her hips closer to his, nay, against them. She got the tiniest thrill out of the feeling of her chest pressing against his as the impending fight was forgotten. Her head lolled off to the side as one last question came to her mind. _

_ "Wednesday?" she whispered._

_ "Aye," he breathed before kissing with a hot, wanting mouth. _

_ There was nothing else to be said as they made love._

Minerva blinked and inhaled deeply as the events of those last forty-eight hours passed through her mind. They were doing well, weren't they? That much was clear.

* * *

><p>Please Review. Much, much thought was put into the layout of the last five chapters (ish) to make this one what it is. As a writer, I would love some input.<p> 


	22. Wednesday

**Chapter Ten: Wednesday**

It would be easiest, she decided, to let them see her—that is to say, not to make a spectacle of herself. While it certainly was in her character to sit, reading a book as she was doing, the drawback to her post became clear almost immediately: there was no getting away from them. It wasn't that she knew that she had even been spotted by reporters yet, but the damned potion wouldn't keep her eyes dry for more than ten minutes. No doubt her red eyes and shaking body would be cause for staring by anyone, let alone those who had some interest in the woman.

Truth was that her body had not felt this horrible in a very long time. According to her father, it was called 'heartbreak' by those sorts of people that refused to use technical names of potions. How apt it was! Only this was some horrible, involuntary constant spasming of the tear ducts and shoulders that had nothing whatsoever to do with her true feelings. Merlin, she felt like a teenager again, unable to control herself at all.

The woman ran her hands gently under her eyes, watching as the salty water slid down her index finger. Her blinking was in vain, as more tears seeped out.

She buried her face into her book of choice, The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It was intellectual enough to keep her mind off of the people who kept looking at her and dull enough to read over the passages without fully taking in the words. Of course she had read it several times. She'd hate to be reading it for the first time—the words were nothing more than blurs ninety percent of the time.

"Can I get you another cup of tea?" a teenage, rather alarmed waitress asked. The girl tried to smile, but failed. Minerva clearly was an upsetting sight for her.

Minerva inhaled the tears and snot, swallowing it down as one does. "I would like that very much."

"Anything else?"

She nodded, "A biscuit would be nice."

"I'll get that right out for you," the girl said without writing it down, and turned back to the kitchen.

The woman didn't pay much attention to the girl as she left, for her eyes darted to the eyesore that sat across from her at just that moment. He just plopped himself there with all the audacity that she'd expect from anyone with his background. Thud.

Her red eyes could hardly convey the utter disgust that she felt at the sight of Archimedes Jenkins, looking as though he had conquered the world. He pulled out a handkerchief smugly and lent it out for the woman. "Need a shoulder to cry on?"

She swatted it away, taking no pleasure in the meager sound it made. She would have rather slapped it. While her flee from the school was certainly planned, nothing of what she read was planned. Those tears had been real. That reaction had been real. Minerva felt nothing but deep loathing for such a man that would libel her in such a blatantly evil manner. She didn't even know him. He had no reason to destroy her or her reputation—whether or not he served a purpose to her and Albus was not a relevant point at all.

"I'd rather break it," she snarled back through the tears.

"I was told that you were a feisty girl," he said soothingly as he placed his unembroidered piece of cloth into his pocket. "Don't think that that will stop me from writing anything. In fact, I think that this happy coincidence is just the break that both of us need," he raised an eyebrow.

Minerva sucked in the mucus and felt it drain down her throat. Merlin, this assault on her senses was hardly a proper foundation for the assault her emotions were beginning to feel. The real Minerva, the one that was highly functional and aware of everything wanted to give him a bit of her tongue, but that wasn't an option. Besides the fact that it would be inappropriate, it simply wasn't possible. She could hardly get out more than five words.

She stared at him silently with what must have been a horrifyingly evil glare.

It hardly fazed him. "Don't look at me like that, Miss McGonagall. You've fled the school. You've fled the comfort of Albus Dumbledore. You could do with giving yourself some positive press. The only way to do that," he raised a crooked eyebrow, "is to talk to me. I guarantee you," he leaned over the table as if to tell a secret, "I am the only one willing to take your side. Call me a romantic."

The woman wiped her eyes violently as she listened to his calm and practiced words. Made her skin crawl. "That's the last thing any of _you_ are," she did her best to keep her voice down. It wasn't easy with that constant knot in her throat. "All any of you have ever done is try to tear Albus and I apart."

The waitress returned, carrying Minerva's order. She placed it in front of the woman gently and looked at the man. Archimedes was suave and confident, the way that middle-aged men are when they're at their peak. His back uncurled and he sat upright. "Tea, please," he smiled with a fake charm that hardly seemed fake at all. No wonder he was a reporter. As a secondary thought, it occurred to Minerva that his nephew clearly came by it honestly.

Minerva continued to glare at him as she took some tea. She didn't bother to add cream or sugar—anything to keep her throat from clenching was a good thing. The hot liquid seemed to help. Even the level of tears seemed to have gone down after a minute.

The Jenkins man sat back casually in his seat, hands intertwined, as he thought with calculation. He didn't bother to lean forward as he openly spoke, "Word on the street is that you've had enough of Albus Dumbledore. Given the fact that you're in a muggle community, I am inclined to believe that you aren't planning on going back." There was no question at the end of his statement.

She shook her head slowly, knowing that every word she said would be used against her. "I've broken our engagement," she whispered.

A smug grin came on his face, "Orin said it was quite the show."

Heat rose up in Minerva's cheeks. She sucked down her tea to hide it. Quite the show, indeed. He did not need her to confirm it.

"I take it," the man said soothingly, "that you are not, in fact, with the younger Dumbledore brother?"

She'd be damned if this whole conversation went on the way that it was. She knew that she was being poked and prodded and watched like a hawk. Minerva did not miss how more people had suddenly come to the café, all of them clearly unfamiliar with muggle dress. Minerva did not miss the way that the tables were slowly gathering around her, as the people surrounding them came closer to hear her words. Above all, she certainly hadn't missed the camera sitting a few tables down the way; her teacup functioned well as a sort of mirror.

Carefully, so as not to alarm anyone, she placed her teacup back upon the table and looked the man in the eye. The blurring seemed to have suddenly stopped. Perhaps the potion was beginning to wear off—or perhaps the more appropriate reason was that the deep and utter anger she felt within herself could not be hindered by a single potion.

Her breath was even and controlled as she leaned across the table. "I have never had any interest in Aberforth and I shall never have any romantic interest in a Dumbledore again." She stood up with that, the rest of the café seemingly shifting along with her. They didn't want to miss an opportunity, now did they? She looked around herself. There were at least three of them watching her, waiting for her to either leave or stay.

Minerva held her head up high, "I would appreciate it if you called off your _friends_."

Archimedes looked around, then back at the woman with a fiendish smile, "They're not friends of mine. Just others hoping to catch a few words. Except for Jones," he gestured towards the man with the camera, "he is a friend. And I am certainly not calling him off. The cat has been caught," he smirked.

He thought he was being clever, didn't he?

The woman took her book in her hand and held its weight. She could throw it, hit him square in the face. She could transfigure it, she knew some promising spells. Ah, but there were muggles around, weren't there? Better go with her first idea.

Without any thought at all, she chucked the hardcover at the man and walked off quickly in the direction of the inside of the café. In the background, she could hear the man, who clearly wasn't ready for a physical assault. The others followed her. She didn't know if any of them carried a camera, some form of evidence. It hardly mattered. The woman scrambled to the bathroom for women and found a stall. No one followed her. They were all men. The second she locked herself in, she apparated. Home, somehow, seemed less comforting now.

* * *

><p>Albus stared at the clock, his heart racing for no discernible reason other than anxiety. He felt like a teenager again, waiting for the appropriate time to depart. Wednesday. It was finally Wednesday, the day that he was to see Minerva. His fingers sifted in and out of the floo powder next to his fireplace as the clock approached eleven. It was time.<p>

He took in a deep breath and stepped into the fireplace. "McGonagall Estate," he said clearly. The usual push-and-pull feeling surrounded him as he passed thousands of fireplaces somewhere in the ether of space, time and magic. It took much too long for his feet to finally hit the ground. The smile that hung on his face was quickly deterred when he failed to see his fiancée waiting for him. Instead he saw the face of Braxton McGonagall who looked at the man seriously.

"Where is she?" Albus asked softly, wanting nothing more than to see his girl's smiling face.

Minerva's father cleared his throat and put whatever book it was that he had been reading down. Albus quickly realized that something was wrong. He had never seen that face on Braxton McGonagall before, nor had he ever been jilted by Minerva in any circumstance. Albus swallowed.

"She's in the back," the father clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I told her that I would send you her way after we had a chat."

Albus blinked. "A chat?" Panic swept through his body, though he wasn't entirely certain why. Perhaps it was that serious look in the man's eyes, a look which Minerva had inherited. It never was a good sign. He swallowed, "Has something happened?"

Braxton exhaled, "Have a seat," and gestured towards the settee.

Albus sat across from his soon-to-be father-in-law. He wasted no time in going there, none at all. While he usually was the one commanding the respect in the room, Mr. Braxton McGonagall was no amateur. All the silence in the room seemed to gather and surround the man before he cleared his throat and clicked his tongue.

"Minerva does not know that I know," Braxton spoke with authority. "She told her mother and her mother told me. She thinks that I'm talking to you about security," he scoffed and straightened his back again. The man met eyes with Albus. It was pretty damn terrifying. "I am being led to believe that you and my daughter have a history; a clandestine history."

That was all he had to say for Albus to understand. Merlin, Min had told her mum. And her mum told her father. Now he was being scrutinized. Albus nodded, knowing that fessing up would save them both time and face. His words were matter-of-fact, though not lacking in regret, "Yes. Minerva and I became quite close while she was a student."

Braxton's lip twitched. Clearly he didn't want to be told that was the truth. Hell, Albus didn't want that to be the truth most days. He could only imagine how a father would take it. Merlin. He felt the heart within his chest start thumping at irrationally high speeds.

"Quite close?" There was a chill in the air.

Albus swallowed, "I'm not sure what you've been told or in what detail, but Minerva and I…we did have an affair."

The man's eyes narrowed. His voice was no longer kind, but gruff, stark. He was ready to go off like a portkey. "How old was she? How old were you? I am told," he growled, "that you are an intelligent man. Clearly they've mistaken intelligence for cunning."

Albus stared quietly at Minerva's father, his head held high. If Minerva was anything like her dad, then it would be best to let him get it all out. Besides, all that was coming were thoughts and ideas that Albus certainly had considered. The man didn't dare shrink as Braxton shouted.

"I have sat by for the entirety of this _courtship,_ this _fiasco_, making neither a peep nor a word about your _union_. I have watched as Minerva, for the last six months, has been continually abused by you and the people that follow you. Reporters! Students making insinuations! Students! I wondered what sort of hold you had on her, _my_ daughter would never allow herself to be abused like that." He scoffed. "And here I find that you're not all you're cracked up to be, now are you? Intelligent, indeed!" the man huffed, his neck pointing, angrily elongated in Albus' direction. "You've taken advantage of my little girl and _I will not have it!_ I know men and men are only after one thing. Seeing as how you've taken it again and again," he stood up from his seat and nearly spat on his opposite, "I can't help but wonder what you could _possibly_ want from Minerva or this family. Well?!" He pointed with an angry finger.

Albus swallowed and looked up at the man with humility, "I want nothing more than your daughter."

Braxton looked at Albus with scrutiny. He didn't bother to sit down. His voice, however, did go down a fair few decibels. "Tell me what sort of man would I be if I let you, knowing what I know now."

His stomach dropped, followed quickly by an instantaneous wetting of the eyes. There was no end, was there? All he wanted, all he ever really wanted was Minerva. He didn't understand the man he was before he met that girl. He certainly did not understand that man when she wasn't around. Maybe for the third, fourth time in his life, his brain cells seemed to die all at once as he just spoke. Albus stood up from his seat and met the man, face-to-face, eye-to-eye.

"I have loved you daughter for longer than I care to admit. I fell in love with her the second I had the will to look at her like that." He swallowed down the shame that he had kept down. "Trust me, I fought it. I fought it with every fiber of my being until I couldn't fight it anymore." Braxton seemed to grow angry at that, but Albus cut him off before he had the opportunity to speak. He held up a hand, "Mr. McGonagall, with all due respect, she loved me back. She fell in love with me, too," he pointed at himself. It was true. That girl loved him with more love than he had ever seen. Albus came-to with that sobering thought. He spoke gently. "And then I remembered my intelligence. My position. I broke her heart. And mine," he nodded. Braxton had not softened. "And I fought and fought and fought for the next few years to forget it, to forget the shame. I still loved her," he shrugged. Why pretend like it was untrue? "And she still loved me. She still does love me." Albus was sorry to see that glazed look in Braxton's eyes. Minerva turned her eyes off like that when she wouldn't change her mind. "Even with all the reporters and the fame and the students, she still loves me. Surely you can see that. Surely you can see that this can't be a game. We know what we're doing."

Braxton inhaled and raised an eyebrow. "Finished?"

"Don't tell me I can't have her," Albus shook his head. If there was one thing that he was willing to put up a fight for, it was Minerva. Nothing would stop him. Nothing.

"And if I do?" Braxton raised an eyebrow.

Albus blinked. He had not thought about it. It just wasn't an option. Her father had to agree to it. After all that they had been through, he had to.

"You know that she would listen, don't you?" Braxton said matter-of-factly.

Albus hardly needed to think about that. He nodded sadly. She would choose her family over him. Minerva didn't put anything before them. Before him, they were all she had. Why would things change?

The room fell silent. The chill seemed to heighten. Braxton seemed to look past Albus into the distance. As a natural reaction, Albus turned. He was not surprised to see Minerva, hands clutched around her arms. Moreover, he was almost glad that she was there. She wasn't looking at him, though. The woman's eyes were on her father.

Tonight she was almost valiant in the moonlight, staring with her head held high. The woman didn't bother to say anything, though. Minerva merely shook her head sadly, not bothering to notice Albus. She turned towards the door to the back when she knew for certain that she had stopped the discussion.

Both men looked at one another, silently trying to decide who it would be to follow her. Braxton's stern appearance had gone, melted into that of a beaten man. He was only trying to stand up for his daughter.

"Go," Minerva's father gestured to the outside. "Don't think that I think any more of you, though."

"As long as it isn't any less," Albus nodded gratefully before walking out the door.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R SVP<p> 


	23. Noble

**Chapter Eleven: Noble**

She was playing in the dirt like a child when he came out, methodically digging with her fingers until she reached mud. Albus kept his distance as he watched her fling the dirt here and there, as she pulled out the rocks and formed a pile of them. Her back was to him, but she surely knew that he was there.

He wasn't entirely certain what to say. With any luck, she was just getting some aggression out; had she been anywhere else, he was certain that she'd have taken to magic, to sparks or flames and made herself feel better that way. Sometimes it just feels nice to squeeze, to throw something when you're upset. He imagined that Minerva had plenty of things that currently made her upset.

Albus swallowed and walked next to her, sitting carefully beside her pile of rocks. She looked at him, her eyes completely dry. "Hello," was her simple response to his presence.

"Hello," was his brilliant response.

She perhaps fell into her own thoughts while he fell into his at that moment. What had she seen? Merlin, what had he said? Albus swallowed. How long had she been there? That wasn't a dream, was it? Sometimes events like that feel like a dream, especially when something is nearly taken. He glanced beside himself at Minerva, whose movements had slowed down.

No, that wasn't a dream. The last week had not been a dream and tonight certainly was not one. Her father knew. That lie was over, dead and gone. What's more is that he was livid; livid enough to threaten taking her away. He had that power.

Albus questioned himself at that moment, he who never questioned once he knew what he wanted, nay needed. They had had to fight so very hard to be together, so very hard. And it wasn't about to get any easier, especially with her father. Was she ready to face that? Was he? He wondered with some very deep regret whether that was somehow the final straw. Her silence filled him with doubt.

Braxton McGonagall said nothing that Albus had not thought through before, but somehow hearing it from him made it sound more scandalous, more ridiculous, more hurtful. Minerva, abused? He never meant it that way.

He looked deep inside himself to find the words to speak to the girl, that darling girl that meant everything to him. He spoke (well, rattled on is more like it), and she ran her fingers through the thick earth.

"You would, wouldn't you? Take them over me. If he told you not to stay…you wouldn't, would you? Their blessing is important to you. And me. I suppose things are different, now. It's all out there, just as you wanted. Everyone knows that I'm…flawed. That we're flawed, in a sense." He nodded gently to himself, swallowed. "I'd like to think that you…know that. We've never been perfect, contrary to what the papers would like to say. But I suppose that's one of our problems, isn't it? The papers. That's why we've made this arrangement. To be rid of them. It isn't fair…to you. Your father does make a point. Asking you to hide, that's not fair. You're so much better than that. Sometimes this feels like a repeat of that first time…you're willing, Minerva, to sit in the background, to act like we're nothing for the sake of saving face. I don't like that." This thought surprised him. He had not ever had it consciously. "And yet you're unwilling to be the center of attention. What you call privacy is a luxury with me, Min. We won't keep it. Even if this goes as planned, they will find out. We'll be in the papers again. I wonder if you'll regret choosing me…when that happens."

A tear slipped down her cheek as she turned to face him. She exhaled heavily, her eyes boring into his, and spoke with certainty, "Do you really think that my father can keep me away from you?"

He blinked. "I believe that your father is one of the most important people in your life. You wouldn't trade him for me."

"I was there for all of that, Albus. I saw every bit of that," she paused and exhaled sadly, though her voice was otherwise devoid of emotion. She was good at that, when she needed to be. Albus recognized that moment in Minerva when she just couldn't handle things anymore. Surely she didn't have many more tears to shed over him.

This thought broke his heart.

He begged his mind to come back to him, to register what she was saying to him. Her emotional state (or lack thereof) contradicted what she was saying, he reminded himself.

The woman must have seen the tears forming in his eyes, for she placed a hand on his reassuringly. She spoke softly, but, well, almost wisely, "Albus, he wasn't there. He did not experience what I experienced. He cannot _know_ the circumstances that led to that affair. His opinion doesn't matter," she shook her head from side to side. Her hand squeezed tighter, "I will _not_ keep coming back to this. IT HAPPENED," she threw both hands up in the air dramatically and stared straight into his eyes, hers burning with a fire, "Yes, it affects why I feel the way I feel and it should never have happened, but here I am. I won't choose because I don't need to choose," she blinked, her voice quieting down. Albus could see her swallow as she stepped out onto a proverbial ledge, "Unless you're telling me I can't have both."

His reaction was among the easiest he had ever had. He could share. Some Minerva was certainly better than none at all. The man shook his head from side to side, "I would never tell you that."

"I know," Minerva nodded quietly. "I love that you allow me to make my own decisions. You're noble, for doing that."

That didn't seem fair at all, not when in so many ways she was by far nobler than he would ever be. While he had fought in a war (which is very noble), she outdid him by simply being willing to be with him. She was making such a sacrifice. The selfish part of him was suddenly being outweighed by his sense of compassion. His eyes clouded with wet, "Sometimes you're too selfless, though, Min. You're willing to sacrifice too much."

She was quick to respond, quick to turn the conversation away from herself, "What about what you're sacrificing?"

What an absurd question. He shrugged, confused, "What am I sacrificing?"

"Children."

Merlin, it wasn't fair at all of her to keep punishing herself, punishing him, over what could not be known just then. Who was to say that they would never have children? Who was to say that such a thing would make him unhappy? Who was to say that he would chuck her because of that? No one. He didn't need children. Children weren't the only way to find happiness. Albus blinked, "We don't know that."

A heavy sigh escaped the woman's lips. She wasn't very hopeful, "We can both hope all we want, Albus, but you can't possibly want to marry me thinking that we _will_ have that life. It may never happen."

"I don't need children. I'm a teacher," he whispered. And he meant it. He wouldn't let her leave him because of the question of children. If she wanted to leave him, then so be it, but not because she thought she was sacrificing herself for his happiness. He wouldn't let it happen.

She kept on, though. Minerva had sincerity and regret on her face, "You're still trading that opportunity by being with me."

The anger washed upon him at that. He would not let her leave him because she thought she was defective! There was no one so perfect in all the world. "Because I love you, damn it!" he shook.

Silence drifted upon them after that. Minerva turned slowly to look upon him after some seconds passed. She was sad, too. Perhaps she was wondering herself whether or not this was the last straw. Her voice was gentle, if only to keep from cracking, "I know."

As gently as he could, he reached over to her neck, his fingers drifting up to her chin. He wanted to be sure that she heard him with all of her attention. He was wrong; there were still tears to be shed by the woman. "I don't look at it as a sacrifice," he whispered. "I would sacrifice everything else before you."

Her voice cracked, "I love you so very much."

He didn't bother to wipe away the tear that slid down his cheek. "Don't ever think that I couldn't want you. Don't _ever_ think that. Ever."

She nodded and whispered reassuringly, "I won't change my mind. If these last few days have taught me anything, it's that I won't change my mind, Albus."

Of course she was talking about him. She was responding as all lovers should in such a fragile conversation, but that part of him that was still mulling over what Braxton McGonagall had said carried some doubt. "They'll find out about us again, Min." Merlin it hurt to say it, to suggest it. Maybe they wouldn't even be successful long enough to get themselves to the wedding. What then?

The woman blinked and shook her head, "Is that supposed to change my mind?"

Albus shrugged sadly, "Will it not give you second thoughts?"

She stared into his eyes, her own barren of pretense and humility, "No," she moved her head from side to side. "But you talking to me like this does. At the end of the day, I just want you. But not if you think I'm so weak that a few newspaper articles will make me leave you."

Minerva didn't understand, not really. He wanted her, God he wanted her. But he didn't want her to suffer for it. "You're not weak," he said, his own voice never having sounded weaker before, "You _are_ the strongest person that I know, Minerva McGonagall. That's why it hurts to see you upset," he whispered pathetically. "I don't like knowing that you're hurting because of me."

"It's not you," she shook her head, "It's them."

He swallowed, "_They_ won't be going away."

"Albus, look at me." He was already of course, but he allowed his eyes to come deeper into focus as she asked. "Now listen to me," she nodded with serious eyes. "The only thought that's kept me happy the last few days is tonight," she paused with considerable vulnerability hanging in the air, "I've missed you. I've missed you so much. I can't…imagine missing you for the rest of my life, not after everything we've been through. I wouldn't be whole again," she whispered, her words floating somewhere between her wet green eyes and his flooding blue ones. "I can stand anything if I have you."

The man couldn't help but shake a little as he swallowed down the wet, the mucus and the tears. His hands wiped away the water on his face and then opened wide for the girl. Minerva fell into him, her head finally landing on the man's chest. The tension left him as he sucked in the soft smell of lavender and tasted the skin of her forehead. That was enough of that. "And I've missed you," he whispered.

He could feel her inhale his scent just as he was inhaling hers and he could feel the clenching of her fingers around his waist as she grabbed for something wholly intangible, yet right there. It felt good, to have his Min back. It didn't hurt that she had managed to alleviate all of his fears.

She was the first to speak after finding this new position. Her head leaned back and her lips pecked his before words came. Her voice was soft, "How did they take it?"

Of course she was talking about his side of the arrangement: the castle, students, professors, all of them. That was the true reasoning for tonight, wasn't it? He exhaled heavily, "Whole castle seems upset and shocked. You were very convincing," he looked down at her, remembering that whole thing. It hadn't been easy to take all of that. His reaction was pretty damn real. "_Very_ convincing. I almost believed it for a second. Maybe that's where this is coming from," he sighed with honesty, "You did make some valid points that day."

"Because I had to," she said in that matter-of-factly voice she sometimes had. "I couldn't very well leave the school by calling you a few choice names. That wouldn't have gotten us anywhere, now would it?"

He shook his head, "I suppose not." A thought occurred to him just then: she had to deal with a late admission to their plans. Moreover, he was not Albus's favorite person in the world. "How did that go, by the way? How was Aberforth?"

"Kind," was her simple response, "Much kinder than I'd have thought. You two aren't as different as people would like to think."

Albus was glad to hear that, so incredibly glad. He had not wanted Aberforth included, not really; sometimes necessities hurt people and he was only glad that it was more of a minor inconvenience than a pain to stop by. He wouldn't ask more on that front—of course he was curious, but he didn't very much wish to prod. Minerva would tell him if she had anything worth sharing. Aberforth hadn't said anything too incriminating, at any rate, since she was sitting happily in his arms. He let out a sigh, "Good. Have you taken care to be seen yet?" he asked, deciding that it would be best to check all the points of their plan.

Even without looking at her lips, he could hear the disgust in the woman's voice (which she clearly could turn on automatically), "Yes. This afternoon. I hope _Archie _Jenkins got a concussion."

He wasn't entirely sure whether or not to laugh at that. How serious was she being? Given her attitude, quite. "Concussion from what?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I threw a book at him. Idiot man had the audacity to just sit with me at a table and interrogate me while four or five other people with quills and cameras appeared on cue." She lifted her head off of his chest and stared at him with her own look of gallant audacity on her face. "So I threw a book at his head and left." A smug smile curled on her lips.

His lip twitched upward. That was his Minerva. "I'm sure it gave you great satisfaction," he said.

Her grin spread wider over her face, "Oh it did."

She leaned forward and kissed him victoriously upon the lips. She was obviously quite proud of her accomplishment. Yes. She could handle the press. He didn't care much for press at all, what difference did it make if it was for or against them? She was right. As long as he had her and she had him, everyone would find happiness. He kissed her after she pulled away from him, then she to him again. The woman giggled and crawled out of his embrace to the side of him which she had not spent digging up and placed her body on the ground. Minerva let out a happy sigh.

Albus chose to rest beside her, placing his arm over her waist and pecking her yet again on the cheek. This was nice. Not appropriate at all, but certainly nice. A thought occurred to him just then; not appropriate at all. "Are the enchantments on the house still up?"

As if reading his mind, she let out a giggle. They were in no danger. "Oh yes. They will be until Saturday night."

"Good," he let out a sigh, "I'd hate for our cover to be blown, as it were, and be seen right now."

She shook her head knowingly, "You don't have to worry about that. I thought we might practice a bit out here tonight."

He blinked. Oh yes. That was another reason why he came (and perhaps the most important one). "Practice? Yes. Practice would be an excellent thing to have."

Her voice was soft, sweet, "I wouldn't want to accidentally hex you. That'd be the end of both of us."

Minerva was a lovely flirt when she wanted to be. He did love how it came from a real place, even if he chose to make fun of it, "You'd expire for love of me?" he grinned.

The woman would have none of it, though, no humor on the matter. Though her smile did not go away, it faded dramatically and her voice came out seriously, "Yes, I think I would."

Albus blinked. She wouldn't of course, but he certainly knew how she felt. He would not do well at all without her. With this thought in mind, he found her lips with his own. It was a simple peck, really, but sometimes kisses like that carried the most passion, the most emotion. So it was. When he departed from her, he smiled vulnerably at the girl. "Hello," was all that came out.

"Hello," she whispered back.

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><p>R&amp;R SVP<p> 


	24. A Midnight Discussion

**Chapter Twelve: A Midnight Discussion**

The bed was warm, the evening was chilly and all was planned. Minerva could find no reason why sleep was playing hide-and-seek with her or why these memories seemed to plague her so. They weren't bad memories, they just wouldn't seem to go away; she could not carefully box them up as she had so many years ago, for someone had cut the ribbon that held the sides together.

She stared up at the ceiling, that ceiling that she had stared into during her childhood. Somehow it seemed larger than it had, then. There was an ocean of questions and an even larger sea of answers. Minerva recalled (because she couldn't help but do so) those nights when she cried to herself at the loss of her lover, Albus Dumbledore. Her parents couldn't know the way that her heart ached, the deep, deep desire she felt to break into pieces and never be put back together. She was aware of her proclivity to exaggerate things as a teenager, but that heartbreak was so real. There was something to be said about losing your first love. After all, the first was nearly always more than a fling, wasn't it? Minerva gave him her whole heart and was only given pieces back, at least at the time.

It had been an easy decision to fall in love with the man, _easy_, simple, natural. He was everything she had ever wanted and thus the young girl fell for the man. End of story.

It was not a loss of innocence—innocence, in her mind, was always equated with naiveté. Minerva was never naïve about it, about the danger she put them in, or the possibility of a happy ending. No, that all had been very real in her mind. Her heart—that was the problem. She did not shed a single tear because her hopes and dreams were destroyed; she cried because her heart was broken, because love was not mental, it was emotional. And so she preferred to think of it as the loss of virginity. In the crudest sense, virginity was nothing but the physical and the emotional.

If she tried hard enough, she could almost still feel the pain—the physical pain—that was the loss of virginity. That slow widening of a wound that she didn't know existed, the strong force that burrowed deep into her stomach, and the staggeringly painful breech (she couldn't thinking of another word to describe it) of comfort. The tears came because it was her body's reaction to the pain, because it felt like her insides were being torn. In a sense they were, weren't they?

She closed her eyes and saw his face in that moment as utter agony filled her visage. _"Should I stop?" he asked, feeling both unsure of himself and of the girl. He could recognize the change in breathing, the sudden stop that filled her body as she reacted to him. No doubt Albus saw the tears that clung to her lashes._

_ "No," she shook her head, certain that the pain wouldn't last. They said that sex was enjoyable, didn't they? Of course she didn't know much about it. She wasn't sure precisely which __**they**__ to blame. "Don't stop," she whispered. _

And it did get better. It began to feel less like an invasion and more of a welcome party. Having never experienced such an event, she was surprised to find the waves of discomfort roll into deeper waves of pleasure. Electrifying, that's what it was.

The woman inhaled and allowed her eyes to open again. She loved him before they had sex. She worshipped him, even, before they had sex. But that moment that made her make that leap, that moment that told her it was okay to let go of propriety, that was some sort of commitment that she made unknowingly. She was his.

Minerva's hand fell on her forehead and dug deep into her eye socket. She wouldn't be finding sleep, would she? She grabbed her wand and turned the glow of light across the room.

It was good to see him, Albus. Even after seeing her father and fiancé having that awful discussion (if one could call it that), she felt right, having met again the man. It was necessary, maybe, for all of that to happen. While Minerva did not believe in divination, she did believe in some sort of harmony within the world. Perhaps her father needed to know. And perhaps, more importantly, Minerva needed to see Albus stand up for her and for them. He had never looked so attractive to her as he did then, admitting his faults and fighting for her. That's all she wanted; to be needed.

She smiled softly to herself as she remembered his proposal, the way that he phrased it. _"I wonder if you would be willing to marry me?"_ What a silly question. Of course she was willing. Even if the last few months had been difficult, Minerva knew that she still wanted to. And so she had told the man the truth. Her heart was his.

Besides that, there was a deep sense of helplessness that came with the loss of the man the first time. She would not let circumstances tear them apart a second time. If they were to ever to be split up, it would be on their terms, not on anyone outside of their relationship. That's really what killed her the first go-round: he was forced to end it, there was no choice to be had. That couldn't occur again. Wouldn't it be some sort of cruel, terrible irony for them to be plucked from each other's grasps again for the sole entertainment of the wizarding world?

Tap tap tap. _"Minerva? Are you awake?"_ her father's voice could be heard from the other side of the door.

She blinked and swallowed. Minerva had avoided her father all evening—or maybe he had been avoiding her. Either way, there were no words exchanged after Albus's visit. It looked like she had no choice but to talk to him, now.

Her inhalation was deep before she exhaled, "Yes. Come in."

Braxton McGonagall entered with troubled eyes and a warm smile. He was looking old, suddenly, with laugh lines deeply embedded in his face and forehead, not to mention the graying of his unshaven face. He exhaled as Minerva had as he looked around the room, stopping to look his daughter in the eye. Green and stubborn pupils met another set as he moved to the edge of her bed and sat where her feet were. His hand tapped her ankles gently as he exhaled again, "How much did you hear?"

"All of it," she whispered with a nod.

Her father bobbed his head back and pursed his lips. "I thought as much. You weren't meant to hear any of that."

"I know," she shrugged, "that's why I stayed. And to prove that I can still make a decent spy," she smiled, trying to lighten the mood. She did not like to quarrel with her father and the opportunity to quarrel with him over a lover was certainly not something to which she looked forward.

He returned the smile and cleared his throat uncomfortably. It was evident from his demeanor that he did not come for laughter, perhaps not even an apology. The man bore no shame for what he said and his next words proved it, "Minerva, why would you want to marry a man like that?"

She already knew the answer, knew what he was thinking. Still, she asked the question. "A man like what?"

"A selfish man," he spoke calmly and without inflection, "A man who's willing to throw you to the wolves, who's willing to do anything as long as it does not make him look bad, who abuses you."

_Abuse._ Minerva hated that word, abuse. He had used it repeatedly earlier when he and Albus "chatted". It was all in the eye of the beholder, wasn't it? "Albus does none of those things," she shook her head from side to side. "How do you mean abuse? What has he done?" the woman's voice began to rise unintentionally. "What has Albus done to me that could _possibly_ warrant the use of that term? You loved him before any of this started—you gave him your blessing to marry me. What could have possibly changed your mind?" Her chest heaved in and out, her back no longer comfortably sitting on her bed. She was upright, staring at the man who clearly (against his normal behavior) wished not to yell back.

Braxton swallowed and spoke to her authoritatively, "Don't raise your voice to me. I'm trying to have a conversation with you, Minerva. Merlin knows you inherited my temper, but I will not let this turn to a shouting match." The man clasped his hands together. "Maybe we start with a different question."

The woman raised an angry eyebrow. Her father noticed, but pressed on. "This _affair_ that happened between you two while you were a student, what was that?"

She didn't very much care for the unfeeling way he was asking about it, but then again, just about anything said badly while she was irritated was bound to make it worse. The woman pursed her lips together, "Precisely what it sounds like."

The man stared at her and nodded, as if to tell her to go on. Minerva exhaled, not having thought ahead of time how she would explain this to her father. "Well," she whispered, "I asked Albus if he would be willing to aid me in becoming an animagus in my seventh year. He did and the first few weeks went well," she glanced up at her father, carefully admitting the truth, "Too well, I'd think. We started developing feelings for one another and by early October, we had begun an affair," she shrugged. "I completed my animagus training. I would," Minerva swallowed, "go to and from wherever it was that we decided to meet as a cat. And then the Headmaster found out. Rather than dismissing Albus, he exchanged Albus' credibility for the end of our relationship. And so it was."

Of course there was no fluffiness in this account. Braxton wasn't interested in the minute details, being a man that dealt with statistics and facts on a daily basis. He clicked his tongue when the woman was finished and processed it all before verbally reacting. "I see. And why go back to him?"

"I didn't see him for another six or seven years. What reason would I have to stay away from him?" she asked, seeing his point to be completely irrelevant.

Braxton inhaled and looked at her sternly, "I raised you to have a sound mind, but you're not always right. What makes you think that his behavior makes him husband material?"

"You're missing the point!" she snapped back, unable to help herself and not willing to let his blessing slip from her fingers. "_I was there too._ I fell in love and he loved me back, doesn't that mean _anything _to you? Who gives a damnabout his conduct, it was mine, too!"

"_Minerva Nessia McGonagall!_" Braxton looked at her with all the might and nobility he had to show, "I will not have this attitude from you. You are a grown woman—"

"E_xactly!_" she shouted back at him. "I am a grown woman. I can make my own decisions and I choose Albus. You think you can bully me by pulling away your support? It won't work," she shook her head violently, "I won't change my mind, not because of you. You think you have me around your finger, well you don't." She stopped talking abruptly, knowing that that was all she had to say and not willing to explicate what precisely that meant. Her father was trying to make the point that Albus was manipulative and abusive—how was that any different from what her father was trying to do for her?

The anger in his eyes had left with that last bit, only to be replaced by some strange form of…defeat, maybe. Perhaps he was thinking that she would be lost to him. That, at least, was certainly a possibility. His voice came out authoritatively, "What about the press? They won't go away, not from him and not from you."

Easy enough answer. "We have Hogwarts. We're safe there, so long as we don't make spectacles of ourselves. And we have magic to protect our relationship during the summer months. We just won't do things in the magical public together."

Braxton stared at his daughter with a frown, "You're imprisoning yourself by being with him, you know that?"

He had that wrong, he really did. "We didn't do things together in public before all of this started, not really. I don't need dances and banquets, especially when the alternative is to not have him," she shook her head softly, knowing the gesture of love that he was trying to send her. Her eyes pleaded with his. "The only reason that any of this has gotten out of hand is because I said the wrong thing to the wrong person at a dance," she shrugged. "This is my fault, not Albus'. Once it all dies down," she nodded with confidence, "it will stay died down. I will go back to the school and so will he. We will finish out the term, get married, and just," she looked around to find the words, "_be_."

"And what if the press catches wind of your marrying? What then?" he said, just a little bit more gently.

Minerva shook her head, "They won't. Our guest list is at thirteen people. None of them will tell. Besides that, we'll be charming the whole of the yard. They won't be able to get in. We've learned, Paw," she whispered, her eyes almost begging.

"Thirteen?"

She blinked, "Yes. Why?"

For the first time since their conversation, a little smile crept over his face, though it faded quickly, "That's a good number. Not to be superstitious, but that's a very good number for us non-muggles."

Her lips deigned to lift the tiniest bit upward at that. That was better, much better. "I didn't do it on purpose," Minerva whispered.

Braxton nodded his head, "Which is also lucky, I'd think."

The man let out a long sigh, staring at his quite lovely and quite grown-up girl. His arms folded in front of his chest. "I want to talk with him after all of this is over before you go back to the school. Since you seem bent on this, I don't see how I have any say in the matter. I at least want the courtesy of threatening him within an inch of his life. I don't care if he's Albus Dumbledore."

Happiness overwhelmed her at that. She got out of bed and leaped into his arms, squeezing the man tightly. He hugged her back, his warm hands pulling her to him. It felt like an eternity since she hugged her father. They had long since surpassed the age where hugs and kisses were part of the routine and yet this moment seemed to somehow be reminiscent of that. It felt nice, warm, inviting. He just wanted what was best for her, didn't he?

Minerva released the man and he did the same. "Thank you," she said, glad that they had hashed it out in a reasonable amount of time. He hadn't a chance, really, and maybe he knew that. Or perhaps not.

"You're welcome," he stated and then paused. His words came out matter-of-factly, showing Minerva that perhaps the end of the conversation had not come as quickly as she had thought. "I still think you're being naïve."

That was her father. He always had an opinion, even after the discussion was over; this couldn't surprise Minerva. She had an intelligent response. "No," she shook her head, "I maybe was being naïve six months ago. Not anymore. We'll be smarter than the press—whatever you want to say, you cannot say that we're not intelligent."

And it was true. Beyond everything else, the two of them were known for their minds. If they put in an effort, the press could be ignored, nay forgotten. If they willed it to be so, then it would happen. She had faith in their abilities.

"You are," he said with assurance. "I wonder about him, though. He's got to have a stopper loose to take advantage of a teenager," was Braxton's response.

She felt her heart drop. Why was she not surprised? It wouldn't have been that easy and Minerva knew it. Problem was that a backhanded statement like that was a hard slap in the face. She had forgotten to keep her proverbial shield charm up. The woman stared at her father, fire radiating from her pupils but couldn't find the words. That really was uncalled for.

He was not startled by her grimace for he knew his daughter well enough to expect it. He took it and stared right back at her until the words did come: shockingly, her delivery was calm and threatening.

"Nothing has changed from when you first met him. Why is he suddenly a fiend?"

"I did not know that he had taken advantage of you, then. That changes things."

She raised an eyebrow, "He. Did. Not. Take. Advantage. Of. Me," she spoke slowly, hoping that his words registered. "You were not there and so I find your opinions and observations completely biased and irrelevant. Your disapproval is not going to change my mind."

"Then what was it? What could that possibly have been, a teacher sleeping with a student?" he fought back, clearly not actually ready for the end of the discussion.

Her head shook from side to side, "Love. Have you not heard a word that I've said? Love. _Love_. Of all the things you've taught me, you think I wouldn't know love?" she felt her voice crack, despite her otherwise reasonably flat pitch. Merlin, she hated it when she was emotional.

That forced him to stop and think. A few seconds passed as he folded his arms in thought. He sighed, "That's what he had to say of you. _Love._" Braxton stared at her as a father would when all looks lost for he could certainly see the tears in her eyes, "Well, Minerva, you two certainly have got that established. What happens when it starts to dwindle?" he said gently, "What happens when all you're left with are reporters and a husband who is never home?"

Minerva swallowed a little more than saliva down, tasting the salt of tears. That was not what was ahead of her. If he could love her without having her for six years, then he could surely love her while he had her for the rest of their lives. Minerva would not give herself to just anyone, especially not someone who hadn't proven himself. Still, her spirit was broken down by the suggestion from her father who was meant to love her unconditionally. She shook her head, "It won't be like that."

"Sooner or later all relationships grow stagnant," he said all too matter-of-factly.

She blinked. That wasn't right at all. "What about you and Ma? You're still happy and you're gone for half the year working," she gestured at the man.

Braxton sighed. "Yes, but I go willingly. By the end of the off-season, I'm very ready to get back to work, to travel. I'm lucky that your mother is so self-sufficient, otherwise this would be a very different marriage."

Was that true? It had to be. That didn't mean that they didn't love each other. That didn't mean that they were unhappy. She wouldn't believe it. Minerva shook her head slowly, aware of the progress that her father was making upon her decision. "Well then I suppose I'm lucky that I, too, am self-sufficient. Everything I have professionally, I received because I worked hard and I will continue to work hard for more."

"You don't think having a husband with such a reputation is going to slow you down?"

Now that was just silly. "If I have the drive without his last name, I certainly won't lose it when I'm married. If anything, I'll work harder. We're good for each other," she said softly. Her eyes stared into her father's whose full attention was on her, though his arms had not unfolded. "He pushes me and I push him. He's a teacher for me," Minerva nodded her head slowly, aware of the reference it made to the source of their argument, "and I'm the same for him. We benefit one another in every way. It's a good match. I promise you, it's a good match."

Braxton exhaled and stood up. He took his time, looking around the room at all her girlhood trinkets before turning back to the girl. It could have been as much as five minutes, though it felt like an eternity. Minerva did not know what she could add. Braxton looked unhappy, but perhaps that was the price of conceding. "As long as you're sure," he nodded, "then I will do everything I can to make sure this turns out right."

Minerva nodded her head in confirmation, not willing to get her hopes up just then.

Braxton met his daughter in the eye. "I trust your judgment," he said softly. "If he's your choice, then I have nothing to say about it. Nothing that you'll listen to, in any case," he half smiled. "Give us a hug and we'll be done with this."

And she did.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R SVP<p> 


	25. Submission

Biggest Chapter of the series decided to fall during tech week of my first major job. I apologize for the tardiness.

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Submission<strong>

She maybe had never been as focused as she was, staring out onto the water glistening in the early morning light. There was no room to give up any sort of attention to any detail: the chill in the air, slight mist, creak of the swing, dew gathering on her shoeless feet, pinks and purples on the horizon, and especially the crackling of branches nearby were all of the utmost importance. Minerva's fingers clenched the rope of the swing tightly as her hopeful face caught sight of an owl approaching her.

It seemed like an eternity before it reached her; long enough, perhaps, for her to allow it all envelope her again. Nothing she felt was fake: one cannot feign emotion. Certainly, one can hide it, but to completely manufacture it? Minerva decided that it must all be real. This felt like a life-changing moment and her body reacted well with this thought.

A shaky hand reached out for the letter as it fluttered down from a branch above her head. She investigated the outside with a keen eye. Albus was ridiculously good at this game, she decided in the second it took her to look at the penmanship: he didn't make his 'A's like that. Someone clearly had opened the letter and rewrote the front, despite the otherwise impeccable attention to detail. Good. Just what they wanted.

She opened it and read the contents: "Eight".

Fantastic start. He must have sent that owl around six. Bit early for him, but who would know such a thing besides his bedmate?

Minerva slid the piece of parchment back in its envelope, took in a deep breath and then stood up. Down to the dock she would wait. She would be oblivious to the photographs, then, and they would be oblivious to her conversation with Albus—not that it would matter, since their actions would speak for themselves.

It was calming, the feeling of grass and mud on her skin as she walked down the slope of the estate, as if nature was shifting in submission to her and the decision she had made. Even the dock was wet, bordering on the early stages of rot in certain spots. '_No detail is insignificant_,' she thought with a slight smile. She rather liked the quiet that surrounded her.

As she sat on the edge and watched her feet dangle above the water, the first flash occurred—they were reckless, weren't they?

But that was fine: she could be reckless back.

She acted as though she had not noticed this first time. There would be more opportunity, more chances to place the blame on Albus and them for ruining her life, for forcing her to do what she did not want to do. Of course they would win. There was no freedom unless they thought they won, Minerva realized. Sometimes one had to lose things in order to gain.

_"_Minerva?" a soft, warm and familiar voice came from the other edge of the dock.

After a deep inhalation, the woman turned as she let it all out. There he was. Blue robes today.

She stood up, her bare feet skimming the water as they crept upwards to the plank. Her head was held high, "Headmaster."

"I'm glad you received my owl in time," he nodded, approaching her slowly. "You look well," he half-smiled.

A lie, of course. She did not look well, she looked like hell; her eyes were far too red from lack of sleep. It was no one's business but her own as to why she was up late, however. Minerva took notice of the cracks of red upon the white of his eyes. "Thank you." There was no need to add more—he knew as well as she did that a false compliment would do neither of them any good, given their situation.

The man gave out a heavy sigh and gestured down the dock, "Is this where you'd like to discuss everything?"

She nodded her head, "Yes."

Neither of them made a move to walk nor sit. They stood and stared at one another as the air seemed to grow unwillingly stagnant, stale, even. Albus pulled out a document that of course was integral to it all, but did not give it to her. He held it in his hand, looking it over and then stared at the woman sadly. "You are contractually obligated, I'm afraid, to teach until the end of your second term, with the exception of some sort of physical or psychological injury that would otherwise impede on your ability to teach, including (but not limited to) death. Seeing as how you are not damaged to such an extent," he clicked his tongue with finality, "I'm afraid I must insist that you come back."

Minerva blinked. They hadn't bothered to actually script any of this. They figured that the press would boggle it up no matter what they did, so why make a plan that they couldn't change? Trouble was, Albus was making it really quite easy for her to become rattled.

The woman took a step back. "You mean you're forcing me to come back?" her voice seemed to slither to his ears.

"On the contrary, _I_ could care less whether you stay or go. But this contract is binding."

She blinked with incredulity written on her ever-twitching lips, "And if I refuse to honor the contract?"

A horrible grin spread across his face, a smile that she hoped never to come into contact with in reality—her heart was breaking enough with this act they were putting on. "As you pointed out in the castle, they are on my side, Minerva. I will tear you apart."

"You wouldn't do that," she shook her head with doubt.

"Wouldn't I? You make a point to say that I have ruined your life by being who I am. Well I posit to you," his chest puffed up with power, "Miss McGonagall, that without your _friend_, Miss Paige, we would never have run into this fiasco." The man glared at her silently.

"That wasn't my fault!" she couldn't help but yell it. The truth stung, sometimes.

He could roar just as she could. "Like hell it wasn't! You have no one to blame but yourself. No one! You chose this path and you are going to finish it." His arms flew into the air. She watched as the contract flew with his hands. That was it.

The woman reached for her wand and pointed it at the man. _"Accio _contract!"

Albus made a movement and snatched it away from the magic. His eyes glimmered. They both knew that no one would ever beat him. He smiled silently before raising an eyebrow, "And what will you do with it? There are copies. Burning it or throwing it into the water won't invalidate it."

She threw her arms up in the air, begging him to speak truthfully with her, "Why do you need me? Surely you have others. Haven't I been punished enough, Albus?"

There was a pause before he answered quietly, "I cannot allow myself to lose control of this situation. Surely you see that, Minerva. Surely."

The woman lowered her wand, "You cannot control me by throwing your weight around. I will not allow that to happen. I will find you someone else—anybody else," her eyes pleaded with him. "If you loved me, then you will know that I just can't continue anymore."

"And if you loved me," he countered bravely, "you will know that I can't let you go."

Her heart broke with that, even if all of this was fabricated, it didn't make her feelings any less valid. Those tears were not fake as they slid down her face. "_Accio _contract," she whispered half-heartedly.

He held onto it tightly.

Neither of them could have predicted the next moment, even if they had tried, even if they possessed the powers of a seer. A camera flash. And then another. And then four or five more. From just up the hill by the swing, there they were, like a plague of locusts ready for their feast. The anger came easily as she looked from them to Albus.

"What are they doing here!" she shrieked at the man.

"I"—that was enough, wasn't it? The turning point.

She waved her wand at him and watched as red sparks seemed to surround him and then vanish. Not even a poof. Just…nothing.

Minerva inhaled dramatically.

He stared at her with a daring, wise expression that he could not possibly have planned. "Fighting me won't do any go—"

The woman flung a new set of red his direction. All he seemed to need to do was hold up his hands and it was blocked.

"Aguamenti!" she shouted and watched as gallons of water emitted from her wand. He seemed to conjure up his own invisible shield as she willed the power to be stronger, for the water to knock him off his feet, for him to trip and fall long enough for her to get away. It didn't happen. The water stopped. She inhaled deeply.

"_Impedimenta,_" she thought and pointed her wand at the man. Of course he saw it coming, for they had practiced it, but part of her still felt the frustration when he seemed to block it as if she was completely predictable. The fighter in her had to disagree.

"Locomotor mortis!" she yelled.

He blocked it with a flick of his wand. "Minerva, please, don't do this. Don't do this. You're not that person," he said calmly.

"_Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy!_" she ventured to think in succession. She watched as his wand seemed to block everything she had to throw at him. Of course there was more in her arsenal. But never, even as upset as she was, would she want to actually harm the man. There were repercussions for that.

She breathed in heavily, looked from the untouched Albus and then back up to the top of the hill. "Is this what you want!" she shouted at them. "Do you need proof that you ruin lives?!" the tears wanted to come, but she held them down. She whispered under her breath, "Aguamenti" and watched as the water hit them and their cameras.

That was satisfying; so very satisfying. Especially when some of them decided that they would apparate rather than see what she was willing to do to them. Her chest heaved in and out as she turned back to Albus who was unscathed and looking less composed than he normally did. Albus swallowed, "Have you gotten that out of your system?"

Minerva blinked, trying hard to remember what precisely was happening, what it looked like and where it was to go. She stared at him proudly. "I want all of this to go away. I want nothing more to do with you or them. You will actively make this happen. If I must go back to the school, then I will. But you will not _ever_ consider us friends again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Minerva I—"

"Do I make myself _clear_?" she hissed.

Albus blinked and bobbed his head slowly. "Perfectly."

"Good," she whispered and walked past him. Then she stopped and turned to look at him at the top of the hill where the reporters had previously stood. "I'll be back tomorrow," she said clearly. "Don't expect to see me outside of class." With that, she walked up the pathway to her house. Minerva didn't dare to look behind her at her lover.

* * *

><p>It happened quicker than he thought it would. After all of the planning, all of the discussion, the last ten minutes were all they had to show. It was convincing, of course, but somehow less gratifying than he imagined. Maybe it's just that it felt real.<p>

He wasn't certain if he wanted to smile or cry as he watched her walk up the pathway to her back door. She was brilliant. He could not have planned the destruction of those cameras, but was glad that she did it. Oh, there would be some pictures spared, but at least it wouldn't be everywhere. That meant fewer people to pay off, to buy.

Albus looked up the hill at the debris of papers and cameras. They were still there, the bodies that accompanied them. No doubt they had heard it all—what would be the point of coming unless they could hear? He took a deep breath before shouting up to them, "Haven't you seen enough?"

Those that had not been focused on him quickly turned in his direction.

One or two apparated, leaving three left. Cowards; didn't even have the gall to look him in the eye after that very private discussion's interruption.

A very familiar wizard with a sizeable bruise on his forehead looked at him with interest and, sensing his livelihood on the line, called back, "What are you going to do now?"

"Run a school, Mr. Jenkins," Albus said point-blank. "That is to be my lot in life. Work." The man shook his head. "That's all there is to see. Good-day, gentlemen," he said as politely as he would allow himself and then gathered up his wits before apparating to his next destination.

His landing was harder than he would have preferred, but he survived it. It was necessary that he survive this bit of damage control, this diplomacy. If he didn't there would be no prize, eh?

Albus looked up at the Daily Prophet's headquarters. He had not been since October and really had no desire to go. It wasn't the bad lifts or the memos that fluttered around more than at The Ministry of Magic, no, it was the people. The last person he wanted to see that morning was Maximillian Woodfork, but he had no choice. With determination and a sense of duty radiating from him, he marched up to that office.

The mosquito-man was thumbing through pictures greedily when Albus opened the door that still exhibited the "Editor in Chief" plaque. Woodfork hardly looked up, despite the way Albus threw the knob into the wall. Quite the contrary, the loathsome man's mouth curled into a smile. He didn't need to glance up.

"Dumbledore, it's been far too long," he smirked as his yellow eyes met the Headmaster's for the first time in six months.

He wasn't an idiot: surely he knew what his star reporter was going to be up to that morning. Woodfork expected him. Albus stared at the man, willing his anger to not get the best of him. With a deep exhalation, he spoke pleasantly back, "Indeed it has. I trust you know why I'm here?"

His wiry fingers shifted a picture or two before he spoke again, though he did not look up: "I must say that I don't, not having been there myself. Is my story headline going to be 'Happily Ever After' or 'Too Good to Be True'? Or," he looked up again greedily, "have you decided to go the high-road, I wonder?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Woodf—"

"What a morning!" A voice came from behind Albus.

Albus turned and met the eyes of none other than Archimedes Jenkins. Archie, unlike Woodfork, was quite surprised to see Albus Dumbledore standing in front of him. With confusion in his face, he looked from one man to another, "What the hell are you doing here?"

The Headmaster cleared his throat, "Whatever your angle is, this morning's events cannot be printed. I'm here to _cut a deal_, as it were." Albus looked from one man to the other. His words were polite, but there was no question that he was demanding this from them. His voice fell heavy on the room. "The Daily Prophet is usually quite open to these methods of diplomacy."

"The high road it is," Woodfork smirked. "Take a seat, both of you. Wait"— he looked at Archimedes—"Tell Grey to send in a release contract."

Archie nodded and left for less than a minute.

Albus and Maximiliian stared at each other the entire time. Neither would break; keep your enemies close, right? This would be neither easy nor cheap, but that hardly mattered. It would be done and they both knew it.

When Archimedes returned, he took a seat next to Albus after closing the door. Woodfork shifted the pictures to the side and grabbed the piece of parchment from Archimedes' hand, laying it flat in front of him. His eyes skimmed it over before looking up at Albus, then his star reporter. "We've all been through this before. Unfortunately for you, Dumbledore, we happen to know your worth. If this story is anything like what I think it is (given your presence, of course), it will take a good galleon for us to keep it quiet."

"I am aware," he nodded.

A wry smile hung on Woodfork's lips. "What happened this morning, I wonder?" he raised an eyebrow. "What was seen that shouldn't have been?"

It was the crown of Jenkins' career, perhaps, to have seen what he did. He wasted no time in saying, "Showed up right when he said he would. Couple of words on her contract and she starts throwing spells at him," he smirked. "Feeble attempts, if you ask me, but then it got all quiet and she sees us watching. Blames him and then attacks us: ruins all the competition's papers and cameras. Broke it off right, didn't she?" he grinned with money signs in his eye.

Albus said nothing.

Woodfork clasped his hands together. "Do we have pictures?"

Jenkins nodded proudly, "Two of the duel that wasn't a duel."

The mosquito man exhaled loudly and proudly. He looked at Albus, "'Too Good to Be True', then?" he paused. "What benefit is it to you for us not to publish this?"

If anyone expected foul-play, it would be Woodfork. Indeed, it probably did sound like a strange request. But Albus already knew the answer. The Headmaster sighed, "She is still a Professor. She still represents Hogwarts. I cannot afford my reputation as Headmaster or Hogwarts' reputation to be lost because Minerva behaved badly. My position, my reputation, is all I have." He stopped on that note, letting the thought linger in the air. As far as they were concerned, he just lost his Minerva, didn't he?

"Funny, I'd have thought that you were protecting her?" Woodfork prodded.

Albus swallowed and shook his head sadly, "Minerva has made her position with me perfectly clear. She wants nothing to do with me."

Woodfork clicked his tongue and leaned against the back of the chair, fingers tapping against one another in thought. He exhaled and looked down at the paper in front of him, then back up at Albus. "Name your price."

"Six hundred galleons," he said simply.

The Editor-in-Chief's eyebrows rose. He glanced over at Archie Jenkins. "What do you think about that number?"

Archimedes scoffed, "We could make that easily off a story like that."

"I agree," Woodfork smiled. "What do you think? A thousand?"

"That'd do me," Archie smiled. "Split it fifty-fifty."

"Or sixty-forty," Woodfork spoke menacingly.

"Or that," Archie nodded his head.

Both men looked at Albus. They would not be negotiating. Just as well. He had hoped it wouldn't be over twelve-hundred and it wasn't. They could have asked for more and he'd have paid it. "Done," Albus nodded gently.

He pulled out a paper of his own and wrote _one thousand galleons_ next to his signature, using a quill and ink conveniently placed on Woodfork's desk. Albus waved it in front of the two men. "Now sign the damn contract."

The Daily Prophet was only the first on his list.

* * *

><p>Minerva sighed as her mother released her from a goodbye embrace. She was such a good woman, such a good mother. Minerva hoped to someday have the opportunity to be as good as she was. She hoped that she would have the strength to say goodbye, to believe in the decisions that her children would someday make. Merlin knows there was some doubt in Emienne's eyes, but still she hugged her daughter and smiled. "You'll keep in touch with wedding plans?" her mother asked.<p>

"Of course," Minerva nodded. "I imagine we'll be here in a week or two, once it has died down a bit. After all, we're having it here, aren't we?" she smiled softly.

"Last I checked we were," Emienne bobbed her head. She looked around the room, a thought occurring to her. "Where has your father gone off to? Is he still in the office?"

The girl blinked and looked around. Braxton had been scarce for most of the day, throwing himself into work. Of course he was around directly after her meeting with Albus, nay, he had been watching from the window, but since that initial 'How was it?', he left to figure stats, games, that sort of thing. Minerva did not really know what he was doing precisely, but she assumed he was keeping his distance for a reason. Hurtful as that might be, she understood. He wasn't as comfortable with it all as any of them wanted him to be.

"Braxton! Your daughter is leaving!" Emienne uttered, her voice ringing through the house.

He came up from the basement—he must have already been on his way up when his wife called him. Braxton carried a letter in his hand, just a letter as commonplace as anything else. He smiled softly at his little girl. "Have you heard from Albus?"

Minerva nodded her head. "They all took the money," she whispered.

"Good," he bobbed his head. The man looked down at the envelope in his hands and then back up at Minerva. "Anything can happen with a large enough coin purse," he stated matter-of-factly. "I uh," he cleared his throat, "I have tickets for you and Albus. I know you'll need to keep a low profile, so they aren't anything special. Not particularly expensive seats. We're playing in Belgrade. Shouldn't have to worry about reporters." He took another glance at the envelope and then handed it to his daughter.

The girl nodded her head in gratitude, finding herself absurdly emotional over a pair of tickets, tickets which she could get at any time from the man. It was the thought, more than anything. She reached for her father and wrapped her arms around his neck. He squeezed her tightly and she clenched him back—it was more than a peace offering, it was unconditional love. "I wish you the best," he whispered softly into her ear.

He released her and nodded. Her father would do anything for her and she knew that. He was wonderful.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for everything." She meant it, too. Minerva was so incredibly thankful. Things could not have worked out better. It was by no means the end, but things were going so well for once. For the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful, _genuinely_ hopeful. Things were beginning to look brighter already.

She stepped away from her father and looked at the both of them before nodding with finality and walking into the fireplace. "I love you," she stated two her parents and took a handful of floo powder. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she shouted. Poof.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R SVP<p> 


	26. A Different Hogwarts

**Chapter Fourteen: A Different Hogwarts**

"It was all a…all a hoax? You made all that up? The fight? The fact that we had to cover your classes?"

Minerva nodded slowly, her eyes focused on the woman across from her. "Yes," she said simply. "All conjured, if you will, for the purpose of duping the press."

"What about the students? What about the staff?!" Cora's beady eyes bore into Minerva's.

The woman let out a sigh and shrugged, "It worked, didn't it?"

"They won't be bothering with us anymore," Albus placed a hand on Minerva's shoulder. "The school will remain somewhat secluded and no one—except those that we feel should be privy to the goings-on of the school—will know the truth of what went on. You should consider yourselves lucky."

"You call us lucky to have been lied to?!" Cora's back straightened and her hawk-like eyes narrowed.

Rudolph cleared his throat loudly from off in the corner. All heads turned to him. He seemed to be taking it much better than his wife. "So your plan is to just…keep all of this a secret? Make like you don't have a wife?"

"Why not?" Albus raised an eyebrow, "You've managed well."

Rudy nodded, "Yes, but I am not you."

"Maybe not. But I am aspiring to be more like you."

"You can't just erase your reputation."

"No," Albus shook his head, "But it's already changed. And it will continue to change. Minerva does not have to be a part of the equation, nor will she be. We're extraordinary on our own accords. No need to make headlines together."

Minerva stared at Cora as she scoffed. The woman inhaled slowly and rubbed her temples. Humility was not one of Albus' best attributes. "It had to be this way, don't you see?" Minerva looked around the room. "There was no getting out without this. And now that we're free of those meddling dolts, we will keep it that way. We're sorry to have lied to you two, but you must see how it allowed for a smaller margin of error."

"That doesn't make it excusable," Cora said rather unpleasantly.

Albus cleared his throat, "Maybe not now. But in time, we hope you change your minds," he nodded at Minerva and then the other two. On his way out, he must have felt it necessary to add quite passive-aggressively, "Wedding is June twenty-eighth, should you wish to mark your calendars." He made no gesture to take Min away from the couple as he exited.

Minerva looked from one to the other sadly. She did not enjoy tricking them and she certainly loathed the fact that she was being glared at by Cora. Still, she understood. This was not the first example in human history of what could be construed as betrayal. In Minerva's life, even, this was not the worst lie she had ever kept, or indeed, been exposed to.

She let out a sigh, also taking care to note the hurt on her lover's face when he realized the price that this falsehood may have cost them. They both still very much wished for Cora and Rudy to attend the wedding. Minerva's lips attempted to shift upward in Cora's direction, "We _are_ very sorry," she whispered. "You two have been extraordinarily kind to us throughout this in various ways. Thank you," her voice grew even softer, "for lending an ear and covering classes and everything else you've done. We would not have survived any of this without you. I mean that sincerely," she nodded. "All of that would have been real without you. Maybe even more public and worse." The woman paused and thought about it. "Far worse.

"We have entrusted in both of you our deepest secrets: our first affair and our marriage. I have no qualms that you'll keep it to yourselves. You're both extraordinarily loyal. I know it may have felt like we've betrayed you," she swallowed, "but we really do trust you more than anyone else. Please…please just think about forgiving us. We know these things take time. We can wait," she nodded her head with an air of finality.

Cora, whose attention was clearly on Minerva, let out a heavy sigh and then looked up at Rudy. The man took her hand. Neither said anything as they seemed to exchange a telepathic conversation.

It was true: she did not need or even want an answer right at that moment, so Minerva stood up from her chair and nodded boldly at Cora and Rudy. Both nodded back, but again, said nothing.

Minerva left the room.

* * *

><p>They were surprised to see her walk in through the door. Of course they had missed her at breakfast—but they also missed Albus, Cora and Rudy.<p>

It amused her to see the eyes widen of each student as they came in, to hear the buzz of chatter out in the corridor: _she's back_, they seemed to say. Indeed she was. And she was very happy to be starting her day off with second years. No tests to panic over, just unruliness, which had never been a problem for her. Truth be told, she rather liked the anticipation in their eyes to hear the tale of where she had been the past week.

Minerva took her time, even starting class a few minutes late as she wrote on the chalkboard with her back to them. Silence seemed to flood across the room as she turned to look upon all of them. They would not be hearing the story from her. It was absolutely none of their business and moreover, whatever she told them would be rumored and misconstrued as it shifted around the castle. She preferred supposition to be shared, rather than perceived fact. It would all fade into the background of Hogwarts history.

She clasped her hands together and swallowed. "Professor Elvstead left some very good reports about this class during my absence. For that, I must thank you—although I expected nothing less, you've earned your respective houses points as a collective for your good behavior," she waved a hand in gratitude. "Now"—she couldn't find the disposition to smile, so her lips hung enigmatically—"Who can tell me why we can transfigure metal to glass, but not glass to metal?"

The students looked from one to the other. Minerva refrained from tapping her toes, even though the impulse was certainly there. She didn't care very much to wonder whether or not her transition had been too abrupt—they should know the answer. Cora was competent. Surely she could have gotten that lesson across. She waited patiently. No one raised their hand.

A curt nod befell the woman as she turned towards her blackboard. "Take out your books," she said as calmly as she could. She did not watch as they pulled them out, though she heard it, naturally. The woman turned after reaching the back of her desk.

There was that moment, that tidbit of a second, where she caught everyone's eyes on her, rather than their books. Some of them hadn't even been smart enough to close their open jaws. Minerva clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. If they had any impression that she was the same person she was a week ago, they were very much mistaken. She hadn't softened—she'd hardened. "Does _anyone_ know the answer," she pursed her lips, patience dwindling—second years were, in fact, not as quick as the upper years.

Students looked from one to the other. They knew the answer. They just wouldn't raise their hands. Minerva exhaled. If they were too afraid, then she would fix that. If they didn't know the answer, she would fix that. "Well," she nodded, "we have two options: I reteach this lesson, putting us behind, or you all can spend your class time writing a paper for me on this topic. I am inclined to choose the latter," she tapped her hand on the desk. "But if you feel like Professor Elvstead was not adequate in teaching the lesson, I will," she paused, searching for the word, "gladly teach it all again."

A timid hand rose in the air.

"Miss Mackay?" she pointed.

"It has to do with the crystalline structure, doesn't it?" the girl spoke gently. "The structure in metal shifts, but not in glass."

The smallest bit of a smile crossed the woman's face. Someone had retained _something_, at least. Minerva nodded her head, "That's why glass shatters when it hits another object, including the floor," she raised an eyebrow. "My question stands. Why one way and not the other?"

Another hand rose in the air. "Mr. Everett," she gestured in the boy's direction.

"Because it's stuck. It's crystallized."

Minerva blinked. Yes, but no, not really. "We can transfigure glass into other things when it starts as glass. Why can't this particular spell be reversed?"

"Halsgots' Law?"

"Correct," a smile appeared on the woman's lips. "Very good," she nodded for a good measure. "And what does Halsgot's Law say?"

Mr Everett's lips also shifted into a smile, "That we don't know."

She nodded and looked around the class, willing her smile to stay. "We don't know. There have been hundreds of tests on this topic and none of them have been fruitful. We've stopped asking the question. Magic," she pressed on, "cannot always be explained. That's what makes it magic." This thought was sobering to her now as it had always been. "Curious as we are, or at least as I hope you all are, it is unlikely that we will know the answers to everything. Sometimes," she inhaled slowly, "things just are."

Her eyes scanned the class. That had them. Minerva clicked her tongue, ready to move on from the thought. A student raised his hand.

"Mr. Bagnold?" she said gently.

"Will you be here for the rest of the term, Professor?"

She wasn't surprised to have this question asked, so her face did not show it. It didn't show anything. That was her gift, when she needed it, to keep it in. Her voice was matter-of-fact, "I have no plans to leave, Mr. Bagnold." She gave a nod at the boy and looked around the room. "I will certainly make it through to the end of the term," she claimed gently.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

Minerva's eyes shot up to the entrance of her classroom. She was a bit upset to find herself interrupted, of course. Had it been anyone else, she very well might have snapped at them; class barely begun. Her eyes narrowed as she approached the man. "Can I help you, Professor?"

Rudy cleared his throat, "May I have a word? Just a quick word?"

The woman looked behind her shoulder. It wasn't easy, getting these students to pay attention in general—certainly it wouldn't be easy on a day such as today to do it twice. Oh well. The damage had already been done. Minerva nodded slowly, "A _quick_ word."

A grateful smile shifted onto the man's face. He nodded and then led her outside the classroom.

Minerva folded her arms across her chest and waited patiently.

"Well," Rudy sighed, "about that back there," he motioned his head backwards, "I just wanted to tell you that er…Cora is having trouble putting it all…uh, together. Did the Headmaster have a chance to tell you?" he asked gently.

She blinked, "Tell me what?"

"This is our last term here, Cora and me. And Sergius, of course."

Not many things could surprise Minerva at this point and so it didn't. In many ways, this was the inevitable solution, wasn't it? "Where will you be going?"

"London," he nodded. "We both have work lined up."

Minerva inhaled slowly and thoughtfully and let it out just as slowly. She bobbed her head with a sense of finality, "Thank you, Professor, for telling me. I do hope all of this can be resolved for the better," she half-smiled. "Good day," she whispered and turned back in the direction of her class.

They all were staring at her, naturally, when she walked back in.

* * *

><p>Albus was surprised to find her in her rooms already. Minerva usually completed her work before coming home. Maybe there just wasn't much to do. Maybe things had not gone as well as he thought they had.<p>

He stared at her figure, laying on the bed in all its gentle beauty before walking over to it. Placing his weight on the bed, she turned immediately to face him. Her eyes were relieved to see him, he could tell. Warmth spread through his body in reaction to her lovely stare. He placed his hand on hers. "You're back early."

"Couldn't spend any more time in that awful classroom."

The man raised an eyebrow, "You love that classroom."

She shook her head, "You know what I mean. Were you able to focus today?"

He blinked; no, being the answer. "I always can focus," he lied. She knew it, of course, but didn't call attention to it.

"The Tates are leaving?" her voice drifted casually across his ears.

He wasn't surprised by the inquiry, nor the manner in which she asked. He replied just as casually as she had asked, "Yes. Rudy told me a few days ago. I didn't want to burden you, then, with that information. Not when we were planning that duel."

Minerva seemed to accept this, for she placed her head in his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was no way to lie, he imagined, but she stayed in that position, squeezing him tightly. The man's hand slid onto her long strands of hair and drifted down to the tips. "I'm afraid things are changing left and right," he whispered softly, knowing well the sort of uncomfortable day she had to have had. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop by your classroom today. Add some normalcy to the equation."

She shook her head in his lap, "It's fine. I didn't expect today to go exceptionally well, and it didn't."

"Was it exceptionally bad?" he raised an eyebrow.

Again, the woman shook her head. "It wasn't what I expected it would be, that's all."

He squeezed her to him and held her there for a second longer. It was hard to find the words, sometimes, as brilliant as he was. "It might be some time before our days are predictable again."

"I know," she spoke softly. "It seems to me that nothing has been predictable since what, September?"

Albus nodded, "That's about right; since we met what's-her-name at the gala. With any luck, normalcy will find its way back to us, hopefully by late June. Maybe it will even stay this time," he smiled hopefully.

"If it doesn't, we'll cope," she said with determination. "We will."

And it was true, he knew. They would cope, if and when one or both of them are attacked. Such was the nature of their relationship. There was nothing easy before them, just as there had been nothing easy about them up to that point, but maybe it was the challenge that held them together. They weren't the only words that he could find for himself to speak, but they were certainly were the most meaningful: "I love you."

"And I love you," she whispered back.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as he stroked her hair and she squeezed him tightly. He could do this forever, he really could. As distressed as they both were, this was the endgame, wasn't it, to just be in their quarters again?

The man sighed, "Sunny might stop in before dinner. She's anxious to have a word with you."

Min turned her head up to look at him with soft eyes, "Is she upset, too?"

"Strangely enough, no," Albus shook his head gently. "I wasn't able to tell her the whole story, but she took it rather well, what I did say."

The woman settled back into his lap, choosing to become comfortable again. She let out a breath, "Thank Merlin for that."

Thank Merlin, indeed. They didn't need more. Now was the time for it all to feel like less; to downsize.

He continued to stroke her hair.

"Anyone bother you today? Any letters? Visitors? Anything like that?" she whispered.

Yes. Of course there had been some. Lots of letters, most of them either from women sending their condolences or asking him out to a lunch. No one seemed interested in asking what happened; the story about town as that they had split for good, why get details? They wouldn't be getting them, anyhow. Albus nodded, "Some letters. But I've been receiving letters for a week. They've stopped being sad and have moved on to lunch and dinner requests."

He heard her groan as she shifted again in his lap to look up at him. "You've being asked out on dates?"

It was the incredulity in her eyes that made him chuckle, not her tone—her tone was serious and appalled. He covered his mouth to hide the smile, but she saw it, of course.

Her eyebrows rose, "What is wrong with the world?"

Albus shook his head, grin still apparent. He cleared his throat in an attempt to be serious, "I didn't ask for any of it."

"I know," she half-shrieked, "What is that?! Who does that? Your heart is meant to be broken up in a million pieces and the world wants to take you to dinner!"

He outright laughed at that, but was smart enough to hold her close to him before she had a chance to leave his grasp in an appalled huff. She fought to escape, but failed miserably. A game. A game of keep the girl. The man laughed at her feeble attempts and she eventually laughed, too, as she struggled to escape his arms. She made it half-way to the floor, which was impressive, but of course, he won.

His arms squeezed her tightly to him after it had quieted down. She leaned against him, tired, perhaps. Her words were quiet, "Will you be going out on these dates?"

Albus pecked her on the cheek, "Only the important ones. I'd rather do without people these days."

She nodded and turned around to peck him on the lips, "Good answer."

He smiled at that. Damn right it was. "I meant it," he said sincerely. Maybe there was a time where he sought attention, but he had learned. If nothing else, he'd trade all of that for her. He had, as a matter of fact, done that. Nothing was going to change.

Albus pecked her lips again.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R SVP<p> 


	27. June 28th

**Chapter Fifteen: June 28****th**

Minerva wore red on her lips, crimson red—the color of love and sometimes hatred. It highlighted the gentle white of her skin and the soft pink of her cheeks. Contrasted against the white of her beaded dress and the veil covering her twisted hair, it was as if her lips were the only color left upon her. Her smile was on fire, burning brilliantly as she stood upon the altar, looking at Albus Dumbledore.

Try as she might to listen upon the words that were being spoken to her by the man between them, Minerva could not help but allow her thoughts to drown it out.

If she had been in love before, it seemed to have amplified with the past few days. Maybe that's what weddings were for: a reminder. In reality, they were solidifying their union, but it didn't feel that way. They were set long ago. They had passed the point of no return the second that she kissed him, however many years it had been since then.

She was just glad to be looking at him on this day. She was head over heels in love with those blue eyes that were staring into hers. And that crooked nose. And that smile, of course, surrounded by red hair. It wasn't until she heard him say "I will" that she was reminded of her love of his deep voice. Maybe it was just that he said the words.

The woman looked at the man between them and said gently, "I will."

The go-ahead hardly registered in her ears before she felt the man lift up her chin to kiss her. It was hardly the thing of novels when his lips met hers, but that didn't matter. It was the sense of closure. She felt her lips being slightly tugged towards his and then let go. She smiled up at him, and he smiled at her. A little laugh escaped her lips as she reached up with her hand to remove the red smudge outside his lip-line. He laughed, too, when he noticed the red on her white gloves.

"I love you," she whispered so only he could hear.

He kissed her forehead and leaned into her ear, "I love you more, I guarantee it."

When he pulled back, she took careful note of his twinkling eyes. Her lips shifted to the side—smirking was hardly something she did, but when there was a challenge afoot, she would not be put in second. "This discussion will continue later," she winked.

Albus nodded with a smirk of his own.

The two of them twisted themselves to look at the very small party in attendance. Rudy and Cora had already made their way to the end of the aisle. Time stands still when one is in love, doesn't it? They took hands and walked to the end of the chairs in the grass.

Min couldn't get the damned smile off of her lips.

She felt a hand on her left shoulder and she turned around slowly, ready to meet her guests. It was her mother, face completely red from tears and her father whose countenance was no more dignified. There was no waiting between the time of recognition and that of embrace. Minerva wrapped her arms tightly around her mother who whispered into her ear, "Congratulations!".

"Thank you," she replied, and looked up at her father who was shaking hands with Albus. "You'll make her happy," Braxton said with confidence to his new son-in-law.

It wasn't the first time she cried that day—tears of joy, of course—but it didn't make her any happier to have them come. Her throat cracked ever-so-slightly as she took note of what she was seeing. They were a family, weren't they? She practically fell into her father's arms when the opportunity arose. She held him tightly, her arms crossed. "Thank you for all of this, " she whispered.

The man let her go and nodded, "I'm glad it's all turned out how you wanted it."

"Oh it did," she grinned and wiped away the semblance of tears that were on her face. Albus placed an arm on her waist. She leaned her head against his chest and looked up at him. "Don't you think?"

Albus nodded, "Just how you wanted it. Sunflowers everywhere."

She laughed at that and shook her head, "Not what I meant."

He chuckled back. "I know. I think we got something right when we decided to do it here, at your parents' house. Thank you, by the way," he nodded at Braxton and Emienne. "It's nice and quiet and small. Just how you wanted it from the start."

Min nodded and took his hand. It _was_ how she had wanted it to be, a nice private affair.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the sound of a baby's cry filled her ears. Minerva turned to face it, having almost forgotten in all the hubbub that Aveline and Tom would be coming—and baby Tommy, of course. There he was, cradled in his father's arms, the infant.

Minerva walked to the threesome, having already forgotten whatever it was that she had been doing. She was blessed to have them there, so very blessed. Tommy was barely two weeks old.

Her smile seemed to trigger the tears as she looked first at the new addition to their family, covered in blue, and then to the mother and father. "How are you?" Min stared at the worn out Aveline.

"Oh just fine," Avee pshhed her away with a hand. "Congratulations my darling," she grinned and walked over to give Minerva a very tight hug who returned it in full. They looked at each other, both glowing, but for very different reasons—or maybe they were sharing the same sort of joy that comes with endeavors like marriages and babies being born.

Minerva blinked as a tear begged to be released from her eyes and turned to Tom. "And how is the new father?"

"Proud," he said with some smugness in his voice. "And not bad otherwise."

"Good," she heard herself say, but her eyes were focused on the beautiful boy in the man's arms, not the man. Of course they noticed it—they probably would be getting that for the rest of their lives. Minerva didn't feel bad at all, falling into the trap of looking at a beautiful baby.

"Would you like to hold him?" Tom asked softly.

The woman nodded without a second thought.

The hand-off was gentle, over-cautious and light. It had to be with such a small, fragile creature. She cradled his head first and then his body against her chest, her free hand running over the soft skin of the baby's hand. He was so perfect. Not all babies are perfect, but this one certainly was what with his dark hair and pale skin. He wouldn't be opening his eyes in the sun, but she imagined they were blue, and that they would stay blue. He would stay perfect, wouldn't he?

Her mind drifted off to a bittersweet place.

* * *

><p>"Oh Merlin, she's found the baby," Albus nudged Berthold gently with an air of amusement.<p>

"So she has," Bertie said while looking over his shoulder. "Looks right at home, doesn't she?" he nudged back.

He meant it playfully, of course, but that didn't stop Albus from having a passing moment of sadness. He quickly excused himself and walked in the direction of his new wife. He smiled to himself with the thought: wife.

Unfortunately, he was ambushed, as one is on such events as a wedding. A man with a stature not unlike his own nodded and put out a hand. "Congratulations," Aberforth said gently. "Treat her well. She believes in you."

He wasn't shocked so much as confused to be seeing his brother say such kind things. Boy was he right, though. Albus put out a slow hand and shook Aberforth's. He had hardly even noticed the man. Had he been sitting in the seats? Albus could have sworn that one of them had been left vacant. "Thank you, I will," he nodded. "When did you show up?"

Aberforth looked behind himself and pointed at a tree, "Stood out there. I was late. Didn't want to ruin things."

That was kind of him, but they wouldn't have minded. Min would have been ecstatic to know that Aberforth actually came. Ah, well, she would be learning soon enough, anyway. "Have you said anything to Min, yet?"

The guest shook his head and crossed his arms, "Don't think I'll be staying very long. I have a business to run. We're closed for a few hours, but I'll have to make the dinner rush."

Albus hoped that he understood that gesture as one of kindness. It was true, they would not be able to get along well for very long and Aberforth would almost certainly not want to ruin a wedding. He nodded to his brother, "You're not going to let Minerva know that you came?"

A sigh escaped the man as he turned to look at the woman, still holding an infant, then back at his brother. "I don't th—"

"—This is the other Dumbledore, then?"

Sunny seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

Aberforth's eyes narrowed, but Albus was used to it. He wasn't surprised at all to have the woman butting her nose into the conversation. Albus cleared his throat, "Yes. Aberforth, this is Sunny Pomfrey, she runs the hospital wing at the school. Sunny, this is my brother, Aberforth, which you seem to have already noted."

"How could I not?!" she exclaimed, looking from one to the other. "Even if I didn't know that you had a brother, I would assume it, looking at the two of you together. Yes, you're definitely brothers," she nodded emphatically. "You're on speaking terms, then?" she raised an eyebrow.

The two men exchanged glances, knowing that that wasn't exactly the truth. Albus was the one to speak. "He's here because Minerva wanted him to be. And we don't want to make the bride unhappy, do we?"

Sunny looked over at Minerva and then back at the brothers. "No, I don't think we do. I've seen her angry. I'd avoid it, too. Consequently, I've also seen her upset. That's a hell of a lot worse. Don't you," she pointed at Albus, "upset her, Headmaster."

Albus laughed at that. She didn't often express herself so bluntly to him, not since he became Headmaster, anyway. He nodded, "I'll do my best."

"And you need to come around more," she poked Aberforth who she didn't know at all.

A sour expression came across his face. "Hands-on nurse, are you?" he growled.

Sunny was unfazed by it. "I do what needs to be done."

"And poking the guests is on the agenda?"

The woman laughed. She was maybe having too much fun with Aberforth whose sense of humor was minimal. Albus placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I've got to go and have a word with the bride. Would you excuse me?"

"I don't seem to have a bloody choice, do I?" he rolled his eyes.

"Don't," Albus gave his brother a pleading eye, "leave, please. She would like to see you. I'll grab her."

Aberforth thought about it before nodding. "I'll just stay and socialize with this…nurse."

A small chuckle escaped Albus' lips as he made his way (yet again) to the bride. He placed a hand on both of her shoulders gently, so as not to startle her. She turned very slowly with a wide, blissful smile on her lips and a baby in her arms.

Albus whispered thoughtfully, "How are you two doing?"

"Well," she whispered back, her happy eyes staring into his. "He's so tiny," she claimed softly.

The man leaned forward to the small child and ran a finger over his forehead. It was so very soft. He smiled, "Indeed he is."

Aware, suddenly, of the child's parents standing in front of him, Albus looked up from the child at Aveline and Tom. He grinned at them, but they were the first to say "Congratulations". He returned the sentiment, of course.

Tom put out his hand for Albus to shake and Aveline gave him a hug. They all smiled at one another. "You're not going to be able to pry that baby from Min's hands," Albus teased.

Minerva looked up at him with a smirk, "I won't be stealing him, if that's what you're implying."

Albus threw his hands up inoffensively, "I would never accuse you of such things."

"We know where you live," Tom winked playfully. "We'd call out a raid if that was the case."

The boys were the only ones that laughed at that.

Aveline and Minerva exchanged a glance and Minerva handed the baby boy to his mother. The woman drifted into her new husband's arms. He squeezed her gently and she wrapped her hands around his. They would have their turn. They would.

He leaned forward into her ear, "Aberforth is here, if you want to say hello."

She turned to look at him, surprise in her eyes. "He came?"

Albus nodded, "He's behind me somewhere. Sunny stopped him dead before he could leave."

Min smiled. "Give her a raise for me," she winked playfully. "Maybe it's time we shoo everyone into the house?"

The man thought it over and then looked at the group. Fifteen in total, all ready to celebrate. Yes, indeed, it was time to go inside and have a toast. "I agree." Albus grinned at his wife and took her hand. They would lead the way into the house, to the party.

* * *

><p>"..and I'm just so glad to be finally toasting to these two. It's been a struggle, and will continue to be, but I know they'll make it. Cheers," Cora raised her glass and everyone did the same. With a few traditional clinks and a few loud sips, that was the end of the toasts. Well, nearly, anyhow.<p>

Minerva glowed as she stared at Albus who stood up and looked around the room. "I'd like to say something, since we decided to be traditional and not write our own vows," he glanced at Min, then back at the group. "I would not be the person I am today without her. I don't think," he turned completely to stare into Min's eyes—this was for her, even if the rest of them heard— "that she really understands who I was before I met her. Even as a student (long before I had any sort romantic inclination towards her), she caused me to think over everything I believed in. Since you all know us as well as you do, I won't go into details, but let me suffice it to say that Minerva, you have such an appreciation for life, such a clear vision of what is right and what is wrong and such a forgiving heart," he paused an swallowed softly, "that I am confident that there is no one like you, nor anyone as good as you."

The woman smiled, probably even blushed as she welcomed his words. She hated being the center of attention, but she was not against this sort of raw confession. Her insides warmed with affection.

"I know that it is a cliché to say things like 'to me you're perfect' and 'I'm the happiest man on Earth', but both of these statements are true. But I uh, I decided to make up my own statement which shall sweep the nation," he smiled and pulled out a piece of parchment from his coat pocket. A mischievous grin fell on his face and he said these simple words, "You're like a cat: I wouldn't want to get into a clawing match with you, you're always cold and you're stubborn. On the other hand, you're affectionate, intelligent and you have an air of confidence about you," he smiled. "Thank Merlin I agreed to teach you how to become an animagus. Things wouldn't have been the same if you chose anything else. _Meow_," he winked.

Min gave out a giggle, covering her rouged cheeks. She couldn't very well be mad at him for telling the truth, not on their wedding day.

He smiled back and raised his glass, along with everyone else in his wife's direction and took a sip. Albus smiled at Min and then addressed the group again, "Who wants cake?"

The general response was positive, so the man came over and took Min's hand. She squeezed it and allowed herself to be pulled out from her chair. Her eyebrow rose quizzically, "Was that necessary?"

Albus grinned from ear to ear, "No, not necessary, but I'm allowed my own bit of fun."

The truth wasn't worth hiding, was it? "You do know that you're likely to get a piece of cake in your face, don't you?" she responded with a playfully serious tone.

He laughed and shook his head, "More for me."

Min rolled her eyes. Of course that would be his response; she shook her head, her grin not waning. "What was that you were saying about not wanting to be in a clawing match?"

His eyes twinkled mischievously, rising to the challenge, "Yes, but this is a food fight. I don't lose those. You had better watch yourself, Miss McGonagall."

Her head snapped up at that and she stopped in her tracks. What a thought.

Albus turned back to face her. She shook her head slowly. The woman spoke gently, having a strange sense of disbelieving in her voice, "I do believe it's Mrs. Dumbledore, now."

A true grin fell on his face and he put his arm out again for her to take. "So it is," he agreed happily.

THE END

* * *

><p>Thank you for all of your support. R &amp; R, please. This is the last time I'll be able to hear from you.<p> 


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